


The Way of the World

by Fantasia_Mylasia



Category: Original Work
Genre: A/B/O Society, Alpha!Female, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Begging, Biology Inaccuracies, Breeding, Come Eating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Morality, Dystopian society, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Bonding, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Orgasm, Forced Pregnancy, Geographical Inaccuracies, Hero Complex, Hurt, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Knotting, Lactation Kink, Litter Pregnancies, Male Lactation, Marking, Masturbation, Mating Bites, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Milking, Mpreg, Multi, Naked Male Clothed Female, Nesting, Non-Consensual, Non-typical A/B/O dynamics, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Behavior, Post-Apocalypse, Praise Kink, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Scent Kink, Scent Marking, Scenting, Situational Humiliation, Stockholm Syndrome, Submissive Male, Survival, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Unreliable Narrator, Weird Biology, Work In Progress, Zombie Apocalypse, dominant female, no i'm not, omega!male, sorta - Freeform, stranger danger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2019-11-23 07:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18148976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantasia_Mylasia/pseuds/Fantasia_Mylasia
Summary: An alpha woman trying to reach her uncles safe house during the apocalypse finds an omega and takes him under her care - whatever that entails - against his will. Though her heart is in the right place, the act itself wasn't exactly, necessarily, selfless. Meanwhile the omega has to adapt to an unsettling change in his life; becoming a broodmare.Oh yeah, did I mention there's zombies?





	1. The world is an introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I have actually updated this work, It's not a dream. updates will be slow-going since lately, I've been needing to find my will to write (and will to live)...
> 
> I've had a change of heart concerning names and dynamics, as well as the overall world, which I will explain in the notes of the next two chapters as well as in the story.  
> Also: this chapter is third person, but I'll be playing with POV throughout the chapters after this.  
> Also-Also: Read tags. They double as warnings to anyone who feels the content of this fic is personally triggering. I will be tagging as I go.  
> Also-also-also: Unbeta'd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is especially dedicated to the self proclaimed perv, Conor. Here's proof there is someone much more pervy than you:

The early dawn brought dark ominous clouds and a light ever present fog. The windows of the abandoned shops were broken and haggardly, caked in grime and sprinkled in webbed cracks from bullets fired seemingly ages ago. Sasha could see every inch of the wear and tear from her position on the sidewalk across from Maple, who was leaning on the brick walls of a dilapidated bar & grill attempting to catch his breath. The fog moved over everything, making both Maple and Sasha perspire.

The woman looked at the panting man, his hair mussed and one rebellious lock curling over his forehead. She wanted to stop for a while, to touch and hold him and let him know they were safe. That he would always be safe while she was there, whether he believed that or not. But she knew that the fog would only get thicker and they would be caught in this desolate town if they lingered. Movement is their best option if they wanted to be safe.

So she grabbed Maples elbow with one hand, lifting him off the chipped brick wall, and used the other to rub loving circles near his shoulder blade. It was a sort of semi-hug as she looked him over, from his tired and frowning brown eyes to the lines shaping the creases of his forehead, completing his utterly worn look or exhaustion.

Walking long distances came with the other pitfalls of a post apocalyptic hellhole, and it made life all the more difficult for maple and his quickly bruising feet. Each step felt like toeing across a line of thumb tacks or pin needles, and every hard pebble or dip in the road his arches molded across exacerbated his pain. He loathed to imagine the site of his poor feet after the day was through.

The running shoes Sasha had scavenged for him weeks ago provided little protection from the unforgiving ground in their beat up state. The small tears, jagged laces, and scuffed tips mirrored the haggardly appearance of their current owner, while the dirtied comfort soles inside (just so thoughtfully procured by Sasha) tried their damnedest to soften the sore impact of the weathered concrete side walk under his feet.

But Maple couldn't worry over the state he was in for too long, as the Alpha called his attention.

"We need to keep moving, Maple" She was clearly trying to soften her voice in an attempt to sooth and encourage him, but it felt wrong to him.

Her demeanor was nothing but cautious as she tried to implore him to continue through the pain yet it came across so disingenuous when paired with the use of the new name his "Alpha" picked out for him.

In moments like these she was sweet and caring, but the omega knew it was an act to get him to comply. He knew if he didn't she'd try again, before passing up the act and commanding him with her alpha voice instead. He, the stereotypical powerless omega he felt like more and more these days, would be hard pressed to ignore her, and walk until his feet bled if that's what the alpha wanted. Whatever the alpha wanted.

Evading an alpha command was not impossible, but it required more energy than he could find in himself at the moment.

"I don't want us caught in the fog, and the further we get from the city, the better. You can nest when we find a proper place for the night" Sasha let her lips plant themselves curtly on his temple, before pulling away and moving to the middle of the street, continuing her direction north-west. Her stride both renewed and determined.

"Mistress," Maple called weakly.

She stops, turning just a quarter in his direction.

Maple felt his resolve slipping, briefly wondering if the humiliation of relying on this stone age knot-head was worth the outcome.

"Before I... nest," he swallowed thickly, the blood rushing to his cheeks creating a tingling feeling along his skin. "I need... I need to be..." tears sprung to his eyes, collecting right on his lower lid, and he resisted the urge to wipe them away roughly with the tattered and dusty ends of his sleeves. She liked it when he was shy and unsure, and it was much easier to convince her to do something for him when he acted out her fantasy of a timid and docile omega to shield and control.

But even knowing that, it was always hard for him to give up his confidence and dignity. Sometimes he wished he really was that T.V omega. The one with the cinched waist and doe eyes, waiting hand and foot on the alpha of their dreams, with only adoration and lust in their eyes, not a hint of malice to be seen. Maybe then asking for his swollen breasts to be milked would be more erotic to him, rather than shameful.

In reality, he was never that omega. Even with his new "pretty" name and wearing a pink, lacy c-cup for his developing tits, he could never bat his eyes at his alpha and still love himself after the fact. Every time he does, a piece of himself falls away, disintegrates into dust swept off the edge of his cheekbone by the brush of his lashes.

Which is why he dreams every night of the earth devouring him whole, breasts full of milk, slowly rounding belly, and all. Just one big gulp and he'd be lost to the dirt and soil, never to see this awful woman again.

Truthfully, only one part of himself wishes that. One other part desires to push his swollen tits into his alpha mouths and have her drain him like her life depends on it. And in instances like these he's glad that part exists, so he can let it take over, let it take a piece of the shame off his shoulders for a second. Until the moment comes and he gets what he asks for.

That always grounds him, reminds him that he's a slut. His alpha's slut. Sasha told him that, so it must be true. Controlling, possessive, rough, and all, she's never actually lied to him. Maple can't even hate her for being a liar. He can only hate himself for letting it come to this, for letting an alpha knot him and claim him. Letting one put their scent all over him, dominating and owning Maples body.

If only he fought harder, begged harder, or covered his neck, let her bite her way through flesh till she reached the bone. If only he did everything he could, short of throwing himself out a window to his death, maybe he wouldn't be bonded to her. Maybe his body wouldn't be the property of someone else, a vessel for the cargo he was carrying.

"Yes?" Sasha pulled him from his thoughts, urging him to continue, though she must've already known what he was going to ask.

"What does my omega need from me?" she was baiting him, looking too fondly and hiding an oncoming smirk.

_She likes this_ , Maple reminded himself. _Just ask, just ask,_ he inwardly chanted. _I can't take the pressure anymore..._

Maple raised his eyes from the spot on the ground they were rooted to just a second prior, but he remains looking far off into the distance, avoiding her. He licked his dry lips and ignored his inner monologue just long enough to build the courage. The thought of the milk dripping in a steady stream down the slender neck of the cider bottle used to collect it, freeing his breast from the weight and aggravation of lactating, was enough to get the words out his mouth, though mumbled at first,

"I need to be milked, mistress." One beat passes, "Please"

He gains confidence, knowing that asking once doesn't typically impress her.

"May you please milk me, mistress."

Then a little more confidence.

"Mistress I need my breasts to be milked, please"

Then the shame returns.

He sniffles, a small and meek sound. he rubs his burning cheeks with his sleeve, and battles his tears by blinking, returning his gaze to the ground where it belongs.

"Tonight" he clarifies, unnecessarily. There's a pause almost as pregnant as Maple. In the moment he thinks she'll say no, so she can watch him desperately struggle to relieve himself this night like she has before. Or maybe she's waiting for him to beg her with his "pretty tears". Either way, he wants to take his words back.

"you don't ha-"

"I will milk you tonight," Sasha doesn't bother saying this kindly, already exercising her authority over his body, specifically over his breasts.

"but you **will** nest first"

Maple blows a soft sigh from his lips, careful not to have her hear it. When he glances up she's already continued walking.

"Come, Maple"

He scurries after Sasha, trying to remain an ample amount of space behind her, but not too far behind, just like she taught him.

Meanwhile, images of bedraggled sheets merged with sweat, slick, and various other bodily fluids filter through Maples mind, and he shivers at the thought of the first nest Sasha mated him in.

He spent three whole days scavenging as many safe places as possible to amass his collection of soft material, his heat turned him into a furnace that entire week despite the cold weather, yet he still managed to focus long enough to make one damn amazing nest.

The spread was so huge he was able to make mock snow-angel impressions in the middle of the piles of materials. He even shaped the protective walls into a square, something he'd never had the talent nor stability of mind to do during previous heats. The nest was a modern masterpiece in his eyes. Made of every possible cushion-y and/or soft thing in a half mile radius(probably).

There were illustrious throws and intricate quilts, two that were fitted with cold packs long expired and light weights (most likely belonging to another omega out there somewhere), pillows of every fabric, a pile of them made out of jeans, which he promptly threw under the nest for extra padding, furs both real and faux, silk and satin dresses raided from the closets of middle-class moms, yoga pants from wine aunts, and even a tacky bear rug scavenged from what could only be described as a mid-life crisis frat house for the fashionably inept.

By far the most prized materials were the omegan trap blankets, mating mats, and body pillows. Back in the pre-apocalypse world, omega specific nesting material didn't come cheap. Maple knew those omegas, whoever they were, were cared for deeply by their alphas, whoever they were too. One orange trap blanket even had the omegas name, Candy, stitched onto the front in off white. That one had been his favorite.

When Sasha found him, she didn't even try not to wreck everything. It quickly became a mess, and Maple had to spend the rest of his heat being fucked into dried cum, blood, sweat, and egg ejaculate. He cried when she spilt his blood over the orange blanket, and cried again when she refused to let him hide by wrapping himself in the weighted throw, then cried once more when all was said and done and the nest wasn't the only thing ruined by her.

He couldn't walk for a day after the mating and had to let her help him clean up. Pain and humiliation bonded him too that night, and they were as tied to him as Sasha was.

After their rude introduction, they abandoned the hide out due to a near-by horde. Sasha carried what little survival supplies he had left in her big hiking backpack, while he was relegated to carrying the lighter stuff. It was only just a little bit of solace being removed from the scene of the crime.

Mistress let him keep one blanket, and he took his favorite. The first pool of water they came across he scrubbed it clean 'till his fingers pruned, not even caring that he used the last of his pitifully small bottle of detergent.

In the present, Maple is eager to take out that same blanket and cover himself in it. To read the note tailored into the bottom corner a thousand times before silently crying himself to sleep, just like he did yesterday.

Yesterday. Maple shivers at the memory of yesterday.

"Are you cold, omega?"

Of course mistress noticed. Mistress always notices.

* * *

 

The next twelve miles were journeyed in silence. By the time Sasha had scoped out a decent neighborhood to crash for the night, Maple was tired enough to sleep standing. He sluggishly followed Sasha to the door step of a small house littered with broken yard decorations.

Graffiti somehow survived the apocalypse, as evidenced by the words "condemned, just like you" tagged in thick red letters on the yellowed paneling of the deck. Low level punks must have figured it was free real-estate, considering there were no old timers left to run them off the lawn. How people like that lasted was a mystery to Maple, but considering his current state and how long he's been here still, it probably shouldn't be. In all likeliness there was a leader in their group, assuming it wasn't a lone wolf. Someone who knew their shit about the undead enough to rule a bunch of punks like some kind of school gang in an 80s movie. The T-Birds from Grease came to mind.

Maple knew his mind was coming up with these ridiculous observations and thesis' to stall the inevitable confrontation between him and the reality of the world.

He wasn't exactly asleep when everything went down, he'd seen what people did when shit finally hit the fan. It's a surprise he wasn't raped and claimed sooner. It made him one of the lucky ones, ironically. Even after the dust settled, people scavenged for omegas and female betas just as much as they scavenged for food. Figured if they couldn't find a survival group they'd make their own. Of course they'd have to wait a substantial amount of years before pups were grown enough to actually help worth a damn. But no rut addled alpha or superstitious beta really cared about that.

Reality came back to him all the same when Sasha rather loudly attempted removing the door blocking entry to the house.

Sasha's first hard kick rattled the front door, her second one made the doorway give and splinter where the lock had stayed place in the latch. With that she barreled her shoulder into the red door, making it hit with a hard _thwack_ into the wall once it budged. The air was stale, all of the windows latched tight. Making sure the living room they entered was clear, Sasha left her pack near the door and put her hand on the gun resting snug in her black holster. She motioned to Maple to stay quiet and stay put before heading up the stairs between the dining room and living space.

After six minutes, she re-enters the living room and nods at Maple, passing him while exploring the rest of the house.

Maple immediately knew what to do without being told, carrying himself to each window in the cleared room to open them as mistress checked the closed kitchen and first floor bathroom, leaving the basement and what horrors could be down there to itself.

When he was done his tasks, he sat next to the fireplace shock still, staring up at the mantle. On proud display were several framed family photos. Three of which were lined next to each other to make one big photograph, showcasing a family of at-least 70 pups and their two parents. It was in black and white, so obviously an old photo and not an accurate depiction of the quantity of people who used to live there.

Maple entertained himself trying to guess which of those pups grew up to live in this house. But his game was cut short by Sasha placing a plastic box of her findings on the floor next to him, bending down to pull out a lighter.

"That's probably the one picture they all got to take together." She comments. After getting a confused glance from Maple she elaborates. "Families that big in Idaho can't keep all of them. Too much work."

She looks away from the photo, occupying her hands with setting up the fire place. "the alpha pups were more than likely shipped to military nurseries," the room glows a burning orange as the wood begins to crackle with the spark of life. It casts as much warmth in the room as it does color.

Satisfied with the fire, Sasha gets up to close the front door, throwing over her shoulder, "If it comforts you, most of them probably didn't live to see this shit. The world, I mean."

She comes to a stop before him on her way to the kitchen again, scanning him up and down, "If it comforts you."

Maple hums in reply, eyes still glued to the happy yet stiff-looking father, and the mother trying to hold her smile despite her drawn and watery eyes giving away her misery.

Sasha nods at the box, "Pick what you want tonight. I'll let you nest after dinner"

_Let you_ , maple stews over the words. _Force you to,_ is what he hears. But there's nothing he can do about it. Everything is up to her. He's almost surprised what they're going to eat tonight isn't up to her too.

Clanking sounds can be heard in the kitchen as Sasha rummages around the cupboards and cabinets. He hears the slide of the drawers as they're pulled out of the counters, then pushed back in. It reminds him of fucking. Or rather getting fucked. Sasha liked fast and rough for the first round, then slow and methodical for the second. The third round could go anyway. As long it ended with Maple sore and sensitive. Sometimes spent, sometimes dying to cum and trying not to show it.

He knows the order in which she's searching and what she is searching for, memorized it to a T. And when she switched her searching methods a month ago, he memorized that to a T as well. Each time he figured it would matter when - _if_ \- he ran away and had to hide from her. It didn't.

Maple hears the soft thud of her placing two glass cups into a pan. Then he throws a glance at the box, seeing a small collection of cans and decides she's stacking them in a pot actually. Around the time his stomach growls something furious is when he chooses to scour the box and find something he won't hurl up after he nests and she... and she-

"When you whelp," Sasha's voice rings from the kitchen, all sultry and snake-like, heard over the shuffle of her boots across the wooden matte. "we get to keep them all. Just one of the few benefits to this ordeal, I guess" She huffs something like a chuckle. It's dark and sarcastic, and Maple doesn't like it.

The ting of two spoons being deposited into the cups reverberates into the hall, followed by her next comment spoken giddily "I can bitch you again, if you'd like.". Maple knows she's not really asking him though. "but that's not really up to you",

And there it is.

There's the sound of pottery clattering together as Sasha puts one bowl into another, just as Maple finds three medium cans of _Indian Style_ chili. He places aside the can of kidney beans _coated in fat puree, chalk full of vitamins for the nursing omega_ , quoted from the label of course. Sasha loves to gloat.

Maple just wanted to survive the world. He didn't want to be bitched and he doesn't want to whelp either now that he has to. Under other circumstances, meaning when the world was normal, he would have gladly hoped for a litter. Now though? He could have easily taken a vow to abstinence if it meant none of his pups would know a world like this. But he didn't get to choose.

Still, he loved the little ones growing in his belly. _Probably three times the size of one of those kidney beans,_ he thinks. A small smile graces his face.

Then he realizes his hand is splayed on his stomach, and Sasha's in the living room now, carrying more than just the pot and dining items.

In one hand she's got the corner of a vacuum sealed bag clutched by the last three fingers in her left hand, while her fore-finger and thumb pinch a thin parchment between themselves. She glances at Maple, who bites his lip in anticipation, before reading the note.

"The living live north of west" another glance. "signed, Grisham Pack"

With a hmph she reads the last bit of the note, "P.S, enjoy the peaches"

Maple grabs the chocolate colored foot stool and sets it before the fire as Sasha watches him with a gleam in her eye. After she puts down the items and two extra cloths, maple gets to work arranging things the way he knows she likes, while Sasha inspects the bag.

"Shame they didn't leave nesting materials," Sasha is unfazed, so he should be too.

"Or a breast pump."

Maple pales.


	2. The World Is A Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maple finally gets his milk expressed, but not before a silent meal and a good nesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things I'll discuss quickly, since I don't intend to talk about it in the story(too much exposition kills the writer AND the fun):
> 
> Sexuality: The majority of any reference to sexual preferences will be A/B/O specific and mainly have to do with secondary gender/designation, e.x alphas who prefer betas, betas who prefer omegas, etc.
> 
> The Outbreak: Overpopulation helped the spread of the disease which very quickly wiped out societies. because of this, there is less than a quarter of the worlds populace left, which is why there are less people than there should be. the undead have incredibly weak motor skills but are capably mobile, meaning they can run and chase. however, they die of starvation if they haven't eaten fresh kill in a while, which leads to their numbers dwindling as well.
> 
> Also, WARNING, casual discussion of rape in the beginning of this chapter. It isn't treated nicely, just frankly, and will be a prominent part of this universe going forward. The societal outlook surrounding the crime will be very different from ours since this is an A/B/O universe and biology is different. I obviously do not endorse rape, and wish anyone with traumas relating to it nothing but the best in life.
> 
> The end chapter notes will be further demonstrated in the next chapter.

"Oh, don't look so sour" Mistress cooed. "You're going to be good during your milking, aren't you?"

Fire licked up the edges of my cheeks, coiling towards the center of my face, attracting attention to the curve of my nose, lighting it up like a bright beacon. I couldn't pull myself to show any more affirmation than a non-committal shrug. The full weight of it slumping my shoulders, making them feel heavier after the rise and fall. I bowed my head, looking through my eyelashes-fluttering them even-in a bid for a more bashful appearance. The more contrite, the better.

It seemed to be enough for Mistress, like I knew it would be.

"Brighten up, frowning is bad for the pups"

At that I snort derisively.

"What about the walking we just did? isn't that bad too?"

"Not as bad as staying somewhere unsafe. Besides, I let you walk at a leisurely pace anyway"

" _Let_ me? It's not like you could force me to run."

"No, not run. I could've made you walk faster. Would've too, but there's just something so endearing about that little pregnant waddle you do. It made you so cute. God, you should've been pupped a long, long time ago" she looked pensive for a second, "Well before the disaster"

"I guess that's supposed to mean you lucked out" I mumble

"I did."

There's a brief pause, long enough for me to worry she'll punish me, before she speaks again.

"You lucked out too, you know. If I were some burly no one with a chip on the shoulder you'd be bent over every surface in this house."

I swallow thickly.

"But I'd rather you naturally came to an understanding that you're the bitch with my pups and I'm you're alpha. That my dominance is indisputable and there's nothing you could say or do to change that."

She looks at me long and hard.

"Something tells me you already know that. Deep down. You know I won't treat you like anything other than my omega, don't you, Maple?"

It was a question that didn't need an answer. It hung loud in the air between us, making me duck my head at the implications.

She was speaking the truth. Any other alpha would've done more than bitch and breed me. Would've shared me with their friends, covered me in piss, branded me, muted me, remove my teeth and fed me a diet of their seed and only their seed. I've seen the worst of alphas in passing, practically had a birds eye view when everything went down. I've been witness to more crimes than I could ever testify against in the court of law. Even the legal practices were carried out in an illegal manner.

Mistress wasn't free from some crimes herself, and I wouldn't say she was the best of the bunch, but she didn't follow her states stereotype. She was nothing like that Rick Ordeson alpha from the string of hurt-porn miniseries that were popular before the world devolved drastically. Raping omegas was probably all she knew, the true definitive way to conquer and put them in their place. Shortly after she bit me, I tried to reason with her, tell her that it was wrong and it hurt me. But she never acknowledged what I said and eventually I gave up.

To many alphas, rape was standard procedure in mating an omega and ensuring their loyalty and submission, but the brutality of a post apocalyptic bitching was an anomaly in widespread practice.

Before the end of society, forty-eight of the fifty states banned wild matings, stating the improper and unhygienic conditions of the outside environment, the stress from panic and unfamiliarity, as well as the lack of handling and battling of alpha attentions, harmed omegas mental and physical health to an undesirable and unreasonable extent.

Bitching was to be indoors and occurring under carefully controlled circumstances, applying at least moderate care for an omegas instinctual needs. An omegas family was given full authority over their heats, pups, and body, which would be passed to the omegas mate after bonding, resulting in the facilitation of modern arranged marriages. A large half of "civil" breedings, as they were called, were even consensual.

After the disaster, all caution was out the window, and all active regulations that could possibly help omegas were out with it. Wild breedings and matings were common all over again, and the pint up aggression mixed with opportunistic alpha varieties led to forced bonding in the streets. Most alphas were crazed with the unchecked power, attacking each other over omegas, or for no reason at all. My mistress was comparably cool-headed, comfortable in her own skin. It's because she was use to the behavior, having lived in one of the two states that still allowed feral displays publicly.

Mistress was becoming impatient, her lips a hard line as she stared holes through my eyes.

"Well? You wanna eat don't you?" Mistress said, motioning with a springy jut of her chin to the cans I laid out. Her hair swung in one solid jerky movement, the coal tendrils curling as it landed in bunches at her shoulder. I wanted to pull on it.

 

Instead, I set about pouring the cans into the pot and finding the metal rack to place it on over the fire, meanwhile Mistress gathered fabrics from around the house, first raiding the linen closet for scraps. I check the pot, stirring it a bit, then pick a comfortable spot on the floor to wait for the food to finish cooking. The wooden floor is cold and unyielding, and for a second I wanted to grab a cushion from the couch to lie on top of, but I know she would mistake it for eagerness to nest, and I want to avoid the experience as much as possible. Still, my fingers itched, the desire all too strong.

If she came back to me starting to nest she'd push me into the floorboard and fuck me. I don't want her cock in my ass; or her lewd words littering my eardrums, tumbling down into my brain like garbage down a trash chute.

 

She's overbearing for sure. Demanding. There's no doubt she's alpha, no one with enough common sense and intelligence in a hundred miles radius could deny that. She walks like one, over confident and with the pride of someone who owns the world. And acts like one, keeping watch in the latest hours of the night, losing sleep if she has to, throwing herself in front of me at the first sign of danger, bossing me around, humiliating me.

She keeps one arm over me while she sleeps, controls when I use the bathroom, where, and even bathed me the first few times after she fucked and scruffed me so hard I could barely move.

Now she scavenges for me, hand feeds me on the occasion, rubs my back, and expresses the milk from my breasts when I'm too full. I'd almost think she's sweet on me if it wasn't for our circumstances and the fact she forced herself on me.

Maybe in a different world, one that didn't end like this, she would have dated me first, convinced me she was a caring alpha and capable of giving me and my pups a loving home. Then ask my parents for claiming rights.

My parents were the good kind, they never saw me as anything other than their son, omega or not. They would have demanded she allow me to finish college if she wanted to claim me. They might've even arranged a whole ceremony, paid for it too, with a spectation just to make sure she doesn't harm me in the bonding process. But that's just speculation. I will never know for sure what could've been.

I mean, I do know they would've been amazing grand parents. I'd have to take my pups to see them constantly. I can just imagine myself smiling at the way Mama introduces herself to the litter, pinching their chubby cheeks and appointing them nick names, each one foreign and meaningful. She'd look at me, stare right into the pools of brown that reflected hers, and with a knowing grin, ask me when the next are due.

There would be a giant meal on the table, in the dinning room. The small silver chandelier lighting up my children's little gazes. the glow bouncing off the beige dry wall, casting a shine on the polished oak table and floors, the silverware gleaming. The table cloth runs to the floor, a size too big for the surface it's stretched on. A soft cascade leading down into a pool of soft fabric, from one end to the other. Fathers hand gliding over my shoulder, guiding me to the chair next to his, asking me how I've been, how's the studies, _how's the **mate**_.

I can almost feel the warmth of their smiles, real in my memories. But something brings me back to reality. The pop of the chili as it boiled over bringing my attention to the present. I'm faced with the fact the warmth I felt wasn't there, it was the fire, in the cold stone sweep of someone elses house, causing that feeling. I grip onto the handle of the pot, placing it on the rug. the steam rises from the dish, heating up my face, as I lean over it to set out the bowls.

 

Mistress walks in, a contented grin on her face, happy by the wonderful bounty in her arms. There's so many big blankets that her entire body is dwarfed behind the material. She has to lean her head to the side just to see where she's walking. A small, creme colored comforter drags behind her, like the train of a particularly fashionable red carpet dress, wiping clean the dust from the floor. Now a clean streak of hardwood leads from the stairs through the dining room to the living room.

Her smile is aimed right at me, and I tense, returning it with a slight quirk of the corner of my lips. She seems to accept it, and moves to pile the threads near the couch, returning to me when she's finished. By then, I've already poured the contents of the pot into the bowls she scavenged. She took her seat on a stool she pulled in from the kitchen area, and I lift up one of the dish towels, a greyed and feathered thing, and lay it across her legs.

She shows her appreciation of the gesture by carding her fingers through my hair in one quick stroke, smoothing down a few tufts of chocolate strands in the process, and it feels better than it should coming from her. A tingle from the top of my scalp, where she started, to the middle of the back of my neck. like fireworks dancing on my skin. Affection from ones mate will always feel heavenly, and I haven't decided whether I hate that or not.

I'm used to setting up our meals like this, arranging the cloth over her and making sure Mistress is comfortable before I go about preparing myself. I even poured her bowl first out of habit.

The one time I was so hungry I dug into the food without preparation or waiting for permission I surely regretted it, and so did my ass. The tiny scratches from where the plastic table she bent me over scraped against my hip are just now fading. There used to be bruises on my knees from kneeling for so long while she force fed me her cock.

I didn't want her to do that to me ever again. So I learned better. I learned to be civil, and to let Mistress eat first, to test whether it's safe to consume or not. In a way, she was only looking out for me. Or at least, that''s what she told me.

I settle myself down next to her, my rear end situated on the balls of my feet. I'm seated at her boots, like a dog at heel, and for a moment I can just see myself; looking the ever studious omega she shaped me into. But I ignore that in favor of the hunger in my belly.

There's been a gnawing pain in my stomach since early this morning that hours of traveling seems to have made worse. So I bow my head in deference to her and our dinner commences.

She lifts her spoon first, taking the first bite and swallow like she does with every meal, and I wait patiently for her just as I was taught. She blows lightly on the utensil pushing the steam away with the force of her own warm breath, then glides the silver right in past the raspberry red of her chapped lips. She appears to push around the sustenance in her mouth a bit, making extra sure it's edible, then, one audible gulp later, gives me the affirmation I needed to chow down:

"Eat, Omega"

And I oblige her enthusiastically.

The next half hour is spent enjoying a, very rare, good meal in silence. The smacking of my lips and the scraping of our spoons against the bottom of our bowls are possibly the only sounds for miles outside the distant chirps of crickets.

The quiet makes time pass quicker. Before I know it, I've reached the bottom of my bowl and Mistress has just put aside hers. She wipes her hands thoroughly with the dish cloth and folds it up, then covers the bowls with it, like we're at a fancy restaurant and not some elderly couples abandoned household during the apocalypse.

I just stare numbly, entranced by the actions.

she gives me a once over, takes in my haggard appearance. The clothes on my back are plastered in dirt and sweat, beyond recovery fashion-wise. It's all I have in the way of clothing currently. Mistress found a department store a town back, but it was out in the open with nowhere to hide me. She didn't want to take the risk of bringing me in there if the dead were in there too.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to wash today" An honestly apologetic look flashes over her face "Next stop, I promise"

I nod at that.

"Okay"

"Would you like to get started now?" Mistress asks.

My heart skips a beat. Then my eyes shift across the living room, trying to catch a glimpse of any possible conversation starter to prolong the inevitable. Gazing wildly over furniture, from chairs to rugs, I spot it, gleaming right at me, succulent and high yellow. _Perfect!_

"Are the peaches any good" I motion my head towards the bag in question.

Her eyes follow my gesture to the offending item.

"I'm not entirely sure" She rubs at the corner of her jaw with a curled pointer finger, assessing the goods, and then assessing me "Do you like them? do you want them?"

I manage a "Yes".

I've gotten a sweet tooth these past few months and the odd bits of candy here and there wasn't cutting it. Plus, if I chew slow enough, I can buy myself around ten minutes more before my nesting.

So mistress picks up the ziploc, inspects the outside for holes, then opens the bag to take a look inside. Plucking up one solid peach chunk with both pointer, thumb, and middle finger, she lays it neatly on her tongue, retracting the appendage into her mouth and squishing around with her teeth. I can see the swish back in forth through the set of her jaw, and the hollow then puff of her cheeks.

She swallows softly.

Her smirk grows twice its size(if even possible), and she takes another pinch into the bag, this time holding out a chunk for me.

My tongue makes first contact with her fingers and the fruit, then my lips follow suit. She lets out a tiny grumble from deep in her chest, barely audible even in the short distance between us. It tastes like summer. Like the peach trees my neighbor grew when I was a child. The syrup texture of the juice slides down my throat just right.

Mistress feeds me another one after I've finished and the burst of sweetness on my tongue takes my memories back through time.

* * *

 

_An orange sun coat, the neighbors daughter, Tina, a beta, laughing maniacally, a bed of flowers, my mothers hair, thinning at the roots, a smile on her own face, her own baby blue button up a few inches oversized. Tina and I are watering tulips, and I was bored, so I told her a joke. I remember._

* * *

Mistress rubs the inside of her wrist over my cheek, and I catch a strong whiff of her Cherry and Lime alpha scent. I didn't even notice that I leaned my head against her lap, but she seems to like the close contact, and it's not harming me, so I don't pull away.

Time passed while I was caught up in my memory, and I finished the entire bag of peaches without remembering doing so.

My mouth was sticky, and the drool coming from the corning of my lips felt like molasses spilling out of me and pooling at small part at the hip of mistresses dark green pants. I silently hoped she didn't notice.

And she didn't, too preoccupied with the tiny baggy in her hands.

"What's that?" I ask

Her eyes flicker towards me for a brief moment.

"Another note" she replies

"What does it say?"

She doesn't answer that question, only moves to wipe the peach juice off the bag and onto the dish rag from dinner. It's easier for me to see the folded piece of parchment when the baggy is clean. There's colors and lines all across it, and I think it might be a map.

Her face scrunches up in consternation, lines forming over her black, pointed brows, pulling her features into a frown. She's deep in thought, her jaw clenched and foot tapping lightly against the polish. I almost want to catch her attention, to ask again, because she only gets this way when there's a possibility of danger. But something in her face, makes me think twice. Instead I sit quietly, hoping she'll forget all about the milking, despite how my breasts hang full and uncomfortable on my chest.

 

Throbbing in tandem with my breasts, my ass and calves start to pinch up, my legs falling asleep slowly beneath me. I move slightly, adjusting my bottom on the floor, and shifting my feet from under me. The rug scratches me a bit as I lay my bare forearms on it. I'm reclined across the floor, almost ready to close my eyes and sleep soundly, when Mistress clears her throat, the noise keeping me from my slumber.

"Get up" she tells me. "It's time for you to nest. No more stalling"

I'm filled with dread at the announcement, obviously, but I'm not surprised she knew what I was doing. I never was good at stalling.

Dejectedly, I remove the cushions from the brown suede couch and lay them together in the center of the rug, scooting aside the foot stool. Mistress took this time to barricade the door with a collection of dining chairs from the adjacent dining area. It's not the most effective against other survivors but it would be helpful against the undead. Their motor skills were moot so just about any barricade would do.

I look over at the pile of fabrics Mistress found and hesitantly pull them apart, searching for the perfect cover for the bottom couch pieces. I find a large bed sheet, bright orange and wool, perfect for warmth, and wrap it around and under the base of the nest.

The two pillows she brought from upstairs were small. Both the length of my forearm and two hands wide. They were memory foam however, so I decided I'd use them to complete the base, but they weren't enough to cover the bottom layer. I stop right in my tracks, eyes wild, panicked

I can't finish a nest without an innerlay, and I can't make an innerlay without a proper top base. If I can't finish the nest, I'll be punished, and I don't want to be punished. My ass throbs with the thought of a rough and calloused hand impacting heavily with my backside, leaving a bright pink impression and a flash of biting pain. My palms start to moisten, sweat beginning to form, and my heartbeat quickens.

 

For a moment, I think about making a run for it and dashing into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard the wood cracks down the middle. I'd curl up under the sink, trying and failing to shield my entire body from her. Maybe she'd break down the door in one kick and drag me out by the nape of my neck, pliant, and force me to continue the nest. Or she'd let me hide until I fell asleep, then slip her arms under and around me, lifting me into the living room and laying her body across mine like a human weight blanket.

But I can't will my legs to move, or my feet to run. I can't turn away from her or disobey her without facing serious consequences that I'd really rather not be subjected to. My bodies reaction is preprogrammed, letting off wafts of stale cigarette and lemon scented air to alert my alpha of my current state. It's natures way of requesting help without my input.

Instinctively, I looked towards Mistress for help, before realizing my mistake. Now she's going to go puffing her chest with pride at the opportunity to help her 'darling distressed omega' with the domesticity of nesting like a proper brood mother. She's the one who caused my panic in the first place, but she'll ignore that fact for sure.

Mistress leans over to me, with that smug smirk running miles up her face, pronouncing her cheekbones. Her hand goes straight for my hair, gripping it lightly.

"Shh, it's okay." she soothes, "It doesn't have to be perfect. Just use what you can."

Her fingers let go of me with a slide through my locks first. I think she's trying to be encouraging, but it's hard to tell over my nervousness.

Nevertheless, I want this over with, and the only way to be done with this is to be done with this. So I continue constructing the nest. I take two linen sheets, hold them together, then fold them into a large square.

I strip the couch of it's two throw pillows and one circle pillow, and put it under the folded linen square, completing the top base. the bottom base still peaks out a bit, bight orange contrasting against bright white, but I figure I'll fix that later. It's not as comfy as it could be, but there's no purpose in dwelling on it.

Next comes the walls of the nest, and since the last time I did something fancy with nest walls was part of a tainted memory, like always these days, I went with an utterly plain low wall circle structure. I twisted two throws around the base first, then twisted the large creme comforter around the throws, tying the wall tight with two child size blankets wrapped like twine around the piece.

It was becoming clearer and clearer that what I was creating was the Frankensteins monster of nests. Messy, mismatched, and cheap. But there was nothing else I could do. Mistress only allowed me to sleep upstairs in houses she was sure were absolutely safe from  **any** danger. As such, I've only gotten the privilege of sleeping in a bedroom four times since she mated me.

Occasionally she would bring down a smaller Mattress if the house had one, and whenever there was a futon with an accompanying Omega layout she'd let me sleep on it. But there was no such luck in this house. Even if there were, I know Mistress is determined for me to nest anyway. She practically gets off on it.

Which is why It's better to finish as fast as possible, instead of wasting my time admiring the unfinished product.

I get to work covering the top base with all the cotton materials left in the pile, all of which where long scarves, tacking them across vertically in colorful lines. It was a tragic scene of ugliness but one that was quickly topped with folded blankets. I molded a folded blanket into every crevice and spot, but they were of varying materials and felt weird when I ran my hand over them. I rolled up the last piece of material, a linen pillowcase, and stuffed it into the space where the bottom base peaked out, covering it as much as I could.

 

My nest was finally built. Hasty, lopsided, and all different shades and fabrics, but built. There was nothing else to do except ask for a cover. Sometimes my Mistress let me sleep with my favorite trap blanket. Other times she would have me bare and naked in the nest, with nothing to bundle myself in. I'm at my most vulnerable when I'm like that, at my Mistress mercy, and reliant on her for safety.

Which is why it's a no-brainer that she refuses my request for my trap blanket, and orders me inside my nest instead. She comes towards me and kneels right where I had been a second ago. At eye level I can see the flecks of gold in her green iris, shimmering glow cast by the fire burning right in front of us. There's this look in her eyes, glossy, pleased.

"Look at my beautiful Omega! so resourceful!" She praises me.

I preen at that, accepting the praise without really wanting to. Her hands raise up, fingers extending towards me, but stopping just a hairsbreadth away, tips almost caressing my cheeks. She moves them down, ghosting lightly across my skin, trailing towards my neck. The skin there is soft and sensitive, warm, temperature rising just a bit from the warmth radiating from Mistress. She clasps the side of my nape and immediately my head lolls to the right, offering better access to my bond mark and displaying my instinctual submission.

Her face brightens as she leans closer to me, "Good boy".

 

Tingles and spikes of pleasure rack my body, making me shake, as she slides her fingertips up and down the back of my neck. I can feel blood rush to my cock as she continues the movement, doing it over and over again. I feel the twitch of my cock as it desperately tries to fatten up without my Mistresses hand to guide it. Before the mating, getting a stiffy and getting rid of it was easy business on my own. Now, my Mistress controls my cock. Every inch is fine tuned to her.

"It's okay, I'll take care of you. Why don't you take that bra off and let me take a look at those swollen tits, hm?"

Mindlessly, I attempt to nod my head, but her fingers on _that_ spot of my neck make it impossible. She doesn't seem to notice, and rubs with a bit more persistence. My lips move together, trying to speak, but all that escapes is a low moan.

"I know, baby. The sooner I can milk you the better" her eyes rove over me, assessing and eager, hungry. "You look so lovely all bred up with my pups. I'm going to keep you bred, just like this, constantly fat with my litters."

A tear almost leaks down my face then. I don't wanna be filled up with her seed, especially not the way she'd prefer to fill me up. I know that's my life in the near future: barefoot and pregnant, belly hanging low over a caged and weeping cock, my back aching as my last litter toddles away, shoving everything they can find into their mouths, and my new litter mewling to drink from my breasts, one by one, until they're drained. She'd come home from a hard day of scavenging with meat and fur on her belt, and salvageables in her pack. All twenty-four hours of every day would be devoted to cooking, cleaning, breastfeeding, nesting, mothering, and presenting.

Litter after litter would be pumped into me, and if what she said was true, I'll have to raise all of them. The pups in my belly now are beholden to me, but I don't like the idea of having another litter. At-least not right away. But Mistress gets what she wants, and what she wants is a large pack-family. She wants me well bitched and whelping till I'm loose, slaving over stoves to cook what she provides, eating from her hands, caught hanging off her knot, and feeding an unnaturally large family from the taps of my breast.

"Come now" She speaks into my ear, "I'll help you".

With that, she proceeds to tug at the hem of my shirt, lifting it into my face. She instructs me to lift my arms up, and I numbly follow. My bra joins my shirt soon after, both discarded next to the nest.

 

My chest feels the warmth of the fire immediately. The caress making my nipples stiffen. One of Mistress hands cups my bra, squeezing it hard enough to illicit a sharp gasp from my lips. She's rough alternating between moving the mound around in circles, squeezing, and pressing it flat. My breasts are being treated like bread dough in the presence of a particularly determined baker. The pressure begins to tighten, my breasts gearing up to feed babes that have not yet arrived. My mistress takes notice as one of her hands slipped under the wire bra to message one nipple, using a fingertip to nudge the growing bud around and wetting her finger in the process.

My cock was near straining now, perked to attention thanks to her ministrations. I think the head might be purple, the shaft red and engorged, but I don't want to look and confirm. Couldn't even if I did want to. Being made to wait was beginning to cause a dull pain. My balls seemed to flex up as my dick only got harder and harder. I want nothing more than to touch myself and rub one out, but I'm not supposed to. Mistress tells me I am to take only what she gives me. I hate it, but there's nothing I can do. There's no rebellion I could hatch against her, no stretch of land I could cross that she couldn't.

Already I'm too tired to even argue, the dopamine rush from her teasing my scruff earlier still flows through my veins, and I am more pliant than I usually am. I need to relax in my nest and settle my pups. But I can't do that without releasing this pent up milk aggravating my breasts. If I have to endure a little bit of edging to have my needs met, then so be it.

 

Thankfully, my mistress is just as eager, though for a completely different reason.

"I'm going to go wash the bottle, don't touch your breasts." She turns around, practically skipping across the small space, and takes the glass coke bottle, along with a small bottle of warm water, out of the backpack and quickly stores herself in the kitchen to clean it.

Meanwhile, I disobey her completely and squeeze both of my breasts furiously with my hands. They're small enough to still fit in my big palms. It's almost painful how stuffed my tits are. The ducts are clogged with milk that just won't come out no matter how much pressure I exert. I start letting out mewls soft enough my mistress won't hear them. I'm trying my damnedest to get just some milk out, preparing myself to tug at my nipples until they cartoonishly extend to my belly button like stretched taffy.

Bravely, I move two fingers right over my nipple, and twist as if opening a bottle cap. I inhale sharply as pain rings through my newly forming mammary glands, rippling like a particularly hard wave. It burns, and then it pinches, like pins striking themselves straight through me and piercing me. Tears spring to the corner of my eyes, and I have to bite my lip and will myself not to call out. It's a minute of smothering and griping before I can't handle it anymore and I pull my hands away quick, as if they zapped me with lightning, just as Mistress re-enters the room.

 

I shove my arms to my sides, attempting to put a front. Gritting my teeth against the lingering pain, I curl my lip up into a smile. It must have looked a bit constipated and unconvincing because she gives me an incredulous stare, one eyebrow neatly perked up, clearly disbelieving my feign of innocence ash she struts right over to me.

"Naughty, aren't you?" she tsks at me. "I bet it hurt."

She knows full well that it did.

Divest of any remaining preamble her hands are on me, roving up my abdomen then gliding over my left nipple. She pulls the bottle up to height, glass warm against my dark pink areola, and then kneads my mound with her whole hand, rhythmically gripping and releasing, extracting my milk. One thin stream of sugary smelling white liquid leaves a short trail of heat as it drips into the neck of the container at my breast.

I release a heavy sigh of relief, the throb of my breasts coming down easily. The pressure lets up enough for me to be content with the pace, rather than impatient from pain. I almost close my eyes but I'm too entranced by the look on mistress face and the river of milk coming from me. I see Mistress's eyes track the steady flow as it slips down into the container, pooling enough to cover the bottom.

"You like that, huh?" She's looking at me.

I absentmindedly nod.

Without warning, she bunches up my breasts and compresses, **hard.** The stream splits in two and combusts a flood of milk, spraying everything. Hosing down Mistress's hands and part of her shirt, splashing into my lap, and running over my stomach in thick rivulets. She plugs the glass by pushing my nipple into it, causing it to suction. The milk shoots into the dish, filling quickly. The fast pitter patter of liquid hitting liquid reminds of the sound of water draining from a faucet and rushing into a cup.

It should've been painful, I should be yowling, but all I can do is sigh even deeper as the pressure completely vanishes within two minutes. By the time Mistress pulls my nipple out of there, the bottle is already half full. Her eyes glitter as she looks at me, then swishes the contents of the glass side to side. The milk crashes against the walls of the glass, creating a plop every time the liquid rises and falls.

"Look at all this milk. Such a good boy, producing all of this before the pups have even gotten here" She caresses my cheek for a second, "Good omega". My cock twitches at the praise.

 

Mistress shifts to the side and the same exact process is done to my other breast: The clutching and the pressing, and even the surprise squeeze, timed differently. When she's satisfied by the amount she's amassed in the bottle and is confidant I've been thoroughly confiscated of all breast milk, she leans down and licks one solid strip across each nipple. My cock yanks up against my underwear, weeping to be let out, while the cooling saliva erects both teats. I don't want to fuck though, and it seems that my Mistress doesn't either as she lifts herself off the floor and plops down into the arm chair, taking her post for the night.

I curl myself down into the nest, snuggling into the fabrics and rearranging myself to be as comfortable as possible, trying to ignore the stickiness of the drying sustenance covering my chest. My hands rub over the skin of my belly, soothing the pups inside and reassuring me they are safe, warm, and fed. Though my stomach has not yet fully distended, I feel all the physical weight of a pregnant omega deep in my bones. In truth, it would be hard to tell, visually, that I am pregnant until the next month, when the bump juts further out from body than my breasts currently do.

As I close my eyes and wait for sleep to take me, knowing Mistress will lay my blanket over me later, my peaceful last few thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bottle full of my milk being swung up to a pair of lips. There's the wet splurch of one swig and swallow. I need nothing else to convince me to turn around and sleep with my back facing my mistress instead. I briefly forget about my toplessness that exposes the full sight of my bond bite, but am of course rudely reminded by a short whistle and a breathily commented "What a view.".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's face it, I threw biology out the door as soon as I chose a zombie apocalypse setting AND A/B/O. Full disclosure, none of this applies real world logic or science.
> 
> Alphas-- both male and female, are fully equipped dicks. As per A/B/O, they're really big and produce lots of cum.  
> For female Alphas the dick extends from a second opening beneath the first vaginal passage. The purpose of the second hole is only to store the female dick(for now, referred by the male terms too)  
> Female Alphas are capable of getting pregnant but can only have single births, and can impregnate male omegas through vaginal sex. They have a ring at the opening of the cervix that extends into a thin pencil like form and thickens after orgasm, locking it in place. After being inserted during orgasm it absorbs omega male sperm and redistributes it with eggs from the ovaries. Think we'll call this sex device a Clitch.  
> During an omegas heat, female alphas produce milk for their omega, while males produce twice as much cum for consumption. Both Male and female Alphas have knots at the base of their dicks. They of course are hard as stone when fully engaged and lock inside of the omega, providing relief for the omega during heat. Baseball size is a good and typical measurement for the average knot.  
> Rut acts like the alpha version of heat and happens once a year for alphas. during this time they are nearly entirely instinct driven and aggressive.  
> Male and Female alphas can mate with each other, and successfully breed.
> 
> Betas are average human beings(by our standards). There's no change to their sex organs whatsoever. They are, however, fully capable of placing bond/claim bites like alphas do, and male betas can also impregnate female alphas. Beta female pregnancies are singles or twins but nothing higher.
> 
> Omegas produce slick and enticement pheromones during heat that work on both betas and alphas but affect alphas much more than betas. Their bodies have only one desire: to breed. Despite the heat influencing actions and fostering behaviors, the omega is still conscious for the first day of heat and all of pre-heat, which makes FORCED breedings/matings during that time period entirely non-con. Afterward, during full heat its dub-con with huge red flags  
> The average Omega pregnancy is 7 months, with the average litter consisting of 4 children. they are fully capable of becoming pregnant again a month after labor. production of breast milk happens months earlier for all omegas. all omegas also have a sensitive area on the back of their neck that renders them immobile when handled. omegas are fertile into their early 50s.


	3. The World Is A Prelude: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> before Sasha found Maple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exploring the story where it truly started in-universe; three months ago.
> 
> I know I implied there would be smut this chapter(technically there will be), but the chapter became exceptionally long and I've decided to break it into two pieces. It shouldn't take me long to finish part two, where all the smut is.

The cold nipped at my nose and fingertips as I trudged through the fresh lay of snow at my feet, and the pistol in my holster lit up my flank with an almost glacial chill.

The group I'm with has been walking since sunrise, towards no particular direction but north. I've asked before where our destination was, but Kellan, the leader, always changed his story. One minute we're going to Bozeman, the next to Helena, and the minute after that, Great Falls. Inconsistency wasn't what I was looking for, or expecting, when I joined this ragtag group.

The mated thruple in front of me were also dissatisfied with Kellans decisive indecisiveness. Betas Trevor and Elliot, and their omega, Coco, were shivering through the frosty air and hard ground. Elliot and Coco were wrapped on either side of Trevor, huddled for body heat, and hanging on for dear life.

They were heading for Elliots family plot near the Canadian border. They didn't care which direction they took to get there as long as they did. To them it seemed Kellan was creating a goose trail to keep the pack together, but they were too cautious to attempt braving their destination by their selves as two betas with an omega.

The lone beta sharing the back of the line with me was a short and humorous woman who went by the name Nantucket, Tucker if we wanted to be friendly. She wasn't really going anywhere if you asked her. She'd say she was meant for the road; that the apocalypse made her fully realize her inner vagabond.

Of the six of us, four are betas. Meaning I could stick out with this group the remainder of the apocalypse without alpha disputes over rut pheromones. The only one vaguely affected would be Coco, but I had no intention of messing with him or his betas. In fact, I had no intentions of continuing with this pack after we get close enough to Idaho state lines for me to make the rest of my journey alone safely.

None of the group knew, except for Tucker, who claimed she had an unearthly ability to predict when some one was as non-committed as she was. She had a list of people she flaked on, for one reason or another. From what I could tell, she was kept in the group simply as an extra pair of hands- as was I. And rightfully so.

 

Those two betas were right to be cautious. Even having three betas gave them better protection for their omega than two. I had my hold ups about the posse when I first came across them- read: when they first came across _me-_ but seeing Cocos round face and curious eyes hidden behind his big glasses pretty much settled it for me. I had to make sure they made at least some of their trip in safe company. My alphahood enabled me to offer better protection than anyone else in the group, especially Trevor and Elliot.

It disturbs me in a way I would never express, to their faces at least, that the beta couple would let an unmated alpha near their omega in a beta pack that doesn't appear to know the first thing about dynamic safety.

Coco's neck was bare as day under his scarf. No claiming mark or bond collar to protect the side of his precious neck. He was open for the taking by me, or any other alpha with a working knot. Even giving the betas the benefit of a doubt, it's incomprehensible to me how they're comfortable leaving him vulnerable after I accompanied the band of survivors.

Sure, Trevor was gruff enough to intimidate most from making a move, and with Elliot to back him up he was never just talk. Yet that wouldn't be enough to ward off sex-starved alphas from battling to the death if need be just to try and get one taste of their omega.

At the end of the day, to each their own. It was up to them what happens to Coco and, fortunate for them, unlike other aggressive alphas, I had no intention of taking him away from the two men he clung to like vices. But it was a peculiar decision none the less.

 

Beside me there's a small hum.

"I bet I could guess what you did before all of this" Tucker pipes up.

I look to her, curious and bored enough to play along.

"Alright. Guess." My breath billows a cloud of white smoke visible in the cold.

"Little league soccer coach?"

I huff out a bark of laughter, incredulous. It wasn't the worst guess some one has made about my life before the shit-storm, but the mental image of me commanding a bunch of scraggly little tykes with mud caked cleats and pouts was quite something. I simply don't have the attitude to coach children, and according to reliable sources, I'm much more likely to cheer them on then toughen them up.

I don't disagree with the perceptions of my kindness. I'd rather a nice image than a mean one. However, unfortunately those perceptions came prepackaged with other assumptions. Not that there weren't benefits to being underestimated, but being an alpha sometimes, many times these days, required being stern and bullish. Cheery is the exact opposite of that and it incites questions of ones alpha-hood. Though I'm secure in my alpha-hood just fine, when other alphas doubt me, challenges are inevitable.

The promise of a fight has never deterred me, and shedding my light-hearted attitude for attack mode has become second nature at this point in time. I'm skilled enough to protect myself, and anyone else who might need my protecting. Yet I can't help but think about worst case scenarios. They keep me up at night, away from my good dreams about good times. All I do is imagine.

I Imagine I find the perfect Omega: he or she is all coy and soft and trusting of their alpha. Everything is finally right in the world. Then, a true monster; not one who ambles around the streets, kicking up a trail of dust and decay and clacking its maws in search of flesh and blood - but a true human monster: a carnivorous being who feeds on happiness and love itself, and sucks the light from others lives; not for need of it but for lack of anything better to do- comes from the woodwork of the very society that fell only months ago, though remained a rotting carcass for years before that.

That true human monster bullies its way into my bond- a bond so perfect it could light the stars on fire- and extinguishes all possibility of hope and love and melts my entire world to the ground, maybe even without laying a hand on me. One challenge bite to the neck of my omega, and my world shatters to pieces I could never put back together, even with the strongest gorilla glue made of kinetic gold or duck tape made from strands of Supermans hair.

Outside of my mind, were things are more Lovecraftian rather than Shakespearean, my silence stretched long enough to make Tucker laugh awkwardly.

"So is that a no?" she asks with an upward tug of her lips.

"Is what?" I answer dumbly

"Mini-me FIFA coaching"

I offer her a humorous smile, "That's a no."

"I thought for sure you would play soccer"

"why's that?"

"Those toned calves of yours. You look like you could kick the head clean off a zombie and score a touchdown!"

That earns her a chuckle. "Now you're talking about football"

"Same-difference across the pond" she shrugs, "okay, next guess! were you a..." it takes her a minute "Librarian?"

"I managed books sometimes, but I wasn't a librarian."

"Damn. An accountant then?"

My face scrunches up, appalled at the notion, "Oh god, no! I've heard how boring that job can be."

Tucker stops walking then, and I turn to look at her utterly offended expression.

"I was an accountant."

I can't help the surprised "Really?!" that comes out of my mouth and my hands immediately shoot up to cover my obscene pie-hole from saying anything else hurtful. There's no shame in nerd work, and truthfully I always wanted a job that required intelligence above all. Looking at her dejected form I feel too bad not to apologize. In fact, it's when I'm one second from doing so when she suddenly perks back up and with a shit-eating grin calmly says,

"No"

She hides a laugh in the palm of her hand, while I cluck my teeth, holding back a chuckle I grudgingly don't want her to have. I nudge her and both of us began walking again.

"You almost had me there"

"The look on your face was priceless!"

She giggles a bit more, swaying on her feet a bit from her little fit, before her laughter starts to slowly die down. She looks thoughtful again and I know she's gearing up for a good guess this time.

"How about secretary?"

That gives me pause.

I didn't think she'd actually guess it right. Not that I had doubts about her intelligence but I just didn't expect it. I never exuded the kind of demurity associated with secretaries. in fact it was hard to, given that I was an alpha and the majority of people surrounding me in the field were betas. Occasionally, there were super rich clients who had two secretaries; one specifically for greeting and another for actual work. The greeting secretaries were omegas who were hired to give off pleasant scents and brighten the place up, which softened visitors and investors, made them more likely to come to a business agreement. Sometimes rich business folk just hired omegas as a sign of class, no matter the position.

The work just wasn't very alpha-like. Something about scheduling meetings for the boss, proofreading his powerpoints, managing his calls, concerning yourself with improving and catering someone else's work instead of your own, just didn't sit right with most alpha ideals. Even after my 'promotion', not many alphas would consider the job I had with any interest, envy, or admiration. It was more likely for them to be surprised I "debased" myself for the lengthy pay check.

Tucker leans into me, still upbeat, and whispers playfully, "Don't worry, I can keep a secret, Tiger."

"I got it written all over me, don't I?"

"No, actually," She huffs, "I guessed"

 

The motion of Coco falling to the snow in front of us captures my attention.

The little omega chuffed, small bits of snow flying off of his nose. He's lifted up by the arm-pits, and straightened out by Trevor roving his hands down the front of his winter jacket, disheveling the snow. The omega gives off a tangy orange smell of embarrassment, seemingly unable to control his scent due to the extremely cold weather. They ran out of his scent suppressants a few miles back and the darling doe had to contain his smell on sheer will alone.

He doesn't look too happy to be covered in cold, more flustered than anything over the caring hands patting him down, muttering under his breath something illegible. Elliot leans in, looks him over than gives him a light kiss on the forehead that makes Coco's cheeks ruddy.

We're given a lovely view of the whole show from the back of the line. Moments like these made something inside of my chest tighten, like someones hand has a grip on my heart and wants to squeeze the desire out of it like juice from a pomegranate. There's a niggling thought at the back of my mind, some part of my inner instincts trying to grab my focus. It tells me that I need that. That I need an omega to pamper and cuddle and kiss. One to carry on my arm and devout my life to.

In all honesty: I can't ignore that instinct. At least, not like I have when the world was still whole.

I've been mateless and packless, since before this nightmare. Before all the blood, violence, and hopelessness, I was just lost as we are now. The apocalypse only exacerbated the problem, illuminated it, like drawing a large red circle around a chasm and an arrow pointed towards it labeled 'loneliness'.

Back in the civilized world, resources didn't come cheap. Drooling over the bosses important work, however unappealing to my nature, continued to put a steady supply of food on my table. Life as a secretary gave me the provisions I needed for just myself and I was content for the first year of my work, but my ambitious nature won out eventually, driving me into an coffee fueled over-time, over-achieving streak that pushed me up the ladder towards a 'promotion': assistants assistant.

Being the yes-man accompaniment to the big bosses right hand yes-man paid way more than I expected. Granted it wasn't the most prestigious position, yet it provided more food for my lonely table. On the downside, it left me with less free time to procure a mate or continue my services at the local omega pound. Thus the great dilemma; I worked so hard to provide for a mate- I worked so hard I never found one.

Living on my own was harder than I expected. It wasn't the weight of my work or responsibilities or the bills I had to pay that really did the number on me; it was the coldness of my empty apartment, without any omega or pups to liven it up.

It's not that I didn't have any family at all. They existed, but they where distant. My parents were travelers, as my uncle described them. They were salesmen by trade, marketing home security systems internationally. If they were lucky, like extra lucky, they would be on some foreign island with a low population and less ways for the infection to reach them.

My uncle, the man who raised me, was a tough son of a bitch who was probably taking out hordes like a one man army. He was a real life action hero sometimes, tried to make me just like him too. As an alpha, he could've had his own kids, and plenty of them. But when my parents desperately needed his help taking care of me, he took on the role of father, and mother when need be, like a pro. To him, the line between niece and daughter blurred. I was his pack and he was mine. It hurt to turn away from him in pursuit of my own pack.

 

I remember the sadness making the crows feet around his pronounced as he squinted, attempting to hold back tears his alpha pride wouldn't allow him to shed. He didn't know I saw him lose that battle, sitting at the kitchen table, through the window outside the kitchen. He wanted me to be strong and happy, but he didn't want me to grow up.

When I settled in the city, I called him everyday. For the first week, he didn't answer. His voicemail greeting me reminded how much I missed his voice, and I always wondered if he missed mine too. So I made my messages as long as I could, which was only five minutes. I talked to his cold machine about anything I could think of; the weather, the highrises, the people, the vantage points, and the street performers. I told him all about the emergency routes throughout the subway and the interstate, the closest hardware stores and storage spaces, the prevalence of first responders, every hospital in the area, all the survivalists stuff he's taught me to pay attention to.

Halfway into the second week, uncle gives up the cold shoulder and picks up the phone on the first ring. There's no sound but our breathing perhaps for a full minute before either of us speak. We build up the courage at the same time and our words jumble together. Uncle goes first the next try. He stumbles his way through an apology that doesn't really sound real but I don't care. Hearing his voice again makes the world brighter.

I smile so hard through the entire conversation my cheeks went numb. I didn't quite find the bravery to tell him why I left or if I was ever coming back, and he never asked. I called him every weekend for two years after that, and he always picked up. We didn't talk about much important.

Then things came to a head. The alerts warned everyone to stay indoors, and almost instantaneously people packed up and prepared to run. For the first time since the move to the city my uncle called me. It was a day before evacuations for the average citizens.

The government moved out the elderly and children to secured locations a week prior to the spread. People on social media sent tweets and emails inquiring their safety. The army quickly launched a shoddy website with long group photos and names and locations for parents to ensure their children were safe. But no news reached about the elderly.

The order for my city to evacuate the omega institutes came out two days late. Many were tackled around, being crammed into armored trucks, and the older ones given temporary sanctuary in common homes at the edge of city. Security was loose because of the mad scramble to get as many out as possible. 

My uncle had a friend in the national guard that he called in a favor from. My status as an experienced volunteer at omega shelters allowed me to stow away on the cargo plane more efficiently. I coached Omegas through panic attacks and spread calming pheromones for the lip locked ones going through Daze syndrome when they were squeezed together in every corner of the plane. Some were unlucky enough to be compacted into steel cages stacked on top of each other.

The whines and the soft sobs for their omega mommas, trainers, or anyone they cared about, drove my alpha instincts up the wall. I couldn't comfort all of them. Only the worsts cases had my undivided attention. I and two other alphas working at different corners of the plane were the only ones keeping those poor babies from going catatonic.

On the ground, pedestrians ran wildly, leaving dust in their wake. The omegas were rushed to camps where formal trainers were available, and I split from the congregation with help from uncles friend. He thanked _me_ for my service, leaving me briefly flattered and stunned, before showing me to the nearest civilian airport.

It was full to the brim almost bursting with people. Getting inside, never mind finding a flight, was a daunting and unachievable task. With my mind made up, I pickpocketed the nearest bystander for their keys and spent a full ten minutes wandering around the parking lot like a child lost in a supermarket.

I tried to make it as far as possible but the inevitable unfixable car trouble struck me half way to the border and I ditched after sleeping in the backseat for the night.

Somewhere on my travels I came across two other groups prior to this one. One group of three college age alphas, who split from me when they changed their minds and decided to go to Utah, and a beta married couple who bailed on me in the middle of the night.

When Kellan saw me fending off zombies in an alleyway, he offered for me to join their merry little gang. I remember four sets of eyes staring intently at me, waiting for my response with baited breaths. I was close to refusing, but I suddenly found myself looking into the soulful and curious gaze of a shy omega peeking out from behind Elliot and Trevor, whom stood side by side like a shield.

He didn't look scared. Just curious. Obviously, he trusted his group to protect him. In my mind, if they were worthy enough of an omegas trust then they were at least a little worthy of mine too.

That's the short answer for how I came to be here, for two months traversing across this frozen tundra formerly known as Montana with a ragtag group of four betas and an omega. Now, watching as Trevor gives little licks to the side of Cocos face, warming it from the snow, I'm feeling a little sordid about the disaster. Not happy that it happened, of course, but hopeful that a beautiful thing can still come from this world.

 

Ahead of the group, Kellan calls back to us, "There's a diner coming up here! we can stop for the day."

Coco turns away from Trevor and begins stomping towards Kellans direction, Elliot hot on his heels. Tucker picks her feet up and waves for me to follow. I do.

 

* * *

 

 

Settling down at a booth in the corner of the store, I take of my coat and boots slowly. My socks are drenched- in what I believe to be sweat- so I put them on the edge of the booth to dry. My eyes do a quick sweep of the space, keeping stock of the exits and the closest weapon beside my gun- which is a tiny fire hatchet encased next to the kitchen entry. I also keep tabs on the omega of the group, sure that if anything goes down I can bring him to safety first.

The beta-omega family are on the floor near the little open space at the counter. Trevor and Elliot have already divested themselves of coats and have layered them over Coco, who looks grateful for the extra warmth.

Meanwhile Kellan is checking the diner for a back up generator, and Tucker is scavenging for non-perishables.

Trevor steps away from his little family and positions himself right across from me. A sigh leaves his lips and he cards his fingers through his hair, ruffling it. The smell of snow and dirty laundry wafts over to me, familiar in a way I wish it wasn't. Out of the group, I was the one who made the most effort to stay clean, even despite the harsh weather. I only wish my companions did the same.

His contemplation is palpable. I can almost physically feel the edge and the worry from whatever it is he's waiting to say. It only serves to make my patience wear thinner.

"Hello, Trevor" I greet him only with kindness.

"That gun you have... have you ever used it? on a person, I mean"

The question comes out of nowhere, totally unexpected. His cool eyes try to bore into mine, but I don't pay him much outward attention as I reach for my Holster to pull out the weapon. It's a Smith & Wesson, silver with a black grip, a gift from my uncle. I had a rifle too, but I had to leave it behind since it would have been much harder to sneak that around with me.

"Yes. Twice."

"Why"

"The first person I used it on was attacking an omega. I tried to stop her but I was too late. The omega was already dead. Bled out from a gaping wound in their neck."

Trevors face contorts briefly, a look of disgust passing his features before he schooled them back to normal. I hear the leather of the booth crumple as he repositions himself slightly. Trevor doesn't take too kindly to stories of omega distress. He was a pretty hard going rights activist previously. I never aligned myself with them personally, nor supported their demands. Activists seemed to primarily consist of betas, and that much made sense. Many don't really understand an omega the way an alpha does. Caring for them and entering a bond was much different than a beta-beta relationship.

Betas who were attracted to omegas indulged in the sex and knew the ins and outs of heats, sure, but the other aspects of an omega; their sexuality and disposition, their need for restraint, training, and cravings for touch were all foreign to a lot of betas. Even the ones rallying for their freedom didn't fully comprehend an omegas need to be controlled and properly handled or else they wouldn't have been activists.

Trevor slouches, attempting to get more comfortable despite the question he proposed and the morbid answers he would receive.

"The second one was an elderly woman. She was already bit and wanted to join her wife- Earla, if I remember correctly- before she could turn."

He takes a second to process my words.

"how about you?" I ask, "ever shot someone?"

Upon hearing my words Coco looks over at us, Elliot too busy laying out a blanket from their bag to notice his omegas attention wandering or hear what I asked his beta partner. Trevor shakes his head, the corners of his lips quirking downward as he lifts up his shoulders to shrug. I'm not sure if it was supposed to be convincing. The omega goes back to shivering in his alphas big coat, curiosity satisfied.

Over the course of the month and a half I've known Trevor, we spoke to each other only sparsely. He was more of a silent communicator and I, friendly as ever, allowed him to be quiet without much interference. Tucker would try to get him out of his shell sometimes, each time being rebuffed. And Kellan always asked for verbal responses, which Trevor didn't mind giving. My approach was to not approach.

I sat back instead, and observed him when he did speak. The way he interacted with his husband and his omega. At this point, I was pretty confidant I could identify some of his tells, the true meanings behind his glances and his posture, the way he corrected his scent, if he let his scent go. Of course I didn't know him well. Nowhere near as well as his loved ones. But I knew well enough about the tense of his shoulders, the worry behind his eyes as he gazed at his omega, not wanting him to hear this conversation. He answer wasn't a no.

Reclining in the booth, I wave my hand in front of me in a sort of 'continue on' type gesture, wanting to hear what he really wanted to talk about. He throws an anticipatory glance in Kellans direction, unable to actually see him yet anxious of his return. Trevor leans in, his smell becoming stronger the closer to my face he gets. Sensing his need for secrecy, I lean closer as well.

"How safe are you?"

I can't help the way my brow quirks up in confusion.

Trevors tongue darts out across the cracks of his pale lip, barely wetting it, glancing again at the kitchen door, before reiterating, "How safe are you? Can I trust you around our omega?"

At that I bristle. My hands clench into a fist, nails biting into my palms. I put off an aggressive scent without meaning to, burning charcoal filling my nose and spreading across the small space. He stills, catching the scent. I think he realizes he's insulted my alphahood and is waiting for my reaction. I don't intend to lash out at him, violently or otherwise.

Behind the booth Coco lets out a soft whimper. It would have been barely audible if it weren't for the quietness of the diner. Elliot perks up, actually paying attention now. He looks at us, primarily me if the feeling of eyes boring into the back of my skull is anything to go by. The air in the room changes, my eyes narrow and lock onto Trevors. I give a cool hard glare.

He tips his head to the side, not averting his gaze however, and lays his palms upwards on the table, exposing the inside of his wrists. Apologizing non-verbally. My surprise staunches the scent I was giving off just a second ago. Mostly, non-verbal omegas apologize that way for small offenses, letting the person see their most vulnerable places to show sincerity. For a beta, only the neck was particularly vulnerable, which made his show of wrists very different. It was a learnt behavior for anyone outside of the omega designation. He must have learned it from his omega, or maybe his birther.

Either way, he takes my shocked silence as an invitation to speak again. "I guess not."

His words almost causes my anger to re-ignite, but I stamp down my scent so as not to spook Coco again.

"I haven't done anything untrustworthy, so why ask?" I already want the conversation to be over.

"Because you're an alpha. I know how it is." He licks his lips again. They're more chapped than they were yesterday, dry from him giving half his water rations to Coco. "I want your word. Can I trust you?"

It's Trevors turn to look intense, his jaw set. His words rattle around in my brain for a little. I don't truly need to consider what he's asking me. Of course I'm good for it, especially as far as omegas are concerned. I know how to handle them and I know what they need. But something tells me that's relevant to the question.

"You can trust me." It's stern, just stern enough to make him visibly relax, his jaw loosening. He nods, attention temporarily shifting over to his omega currently nestled into Elliots chest. Coco's eyes are closing, weariness setting in. He'll be asleep in a few minutes and at his most vulnerable.

"Now that that's settled," I have half the mind to act laid back, contorting my body oddly to hike my sore feet on the dented booth table. There isn't enough space between the seating and the surface for me to actually lay both of my legs straight so my left foot rests on the cold ground while my right sits pretty, bent at the knee, on the table top. My small switch blade gleams, strapped to my calf. His eyes meet the knife before recentering on me. "What was the real question?"

By this time I'm already annoyed by Trevors flightiness. Years of dazzling snobbish clientele with smiles and adapting to my bosses critical nature with a kind, albeit stiff, disposition has trained me in the art of patience. Or a least in the art of feigning patience. Instead of huffing or egging him on, I decide to wait, each second of him swallowing back his initial question becoming agony.

I'm starting to discerning things I hadn't cared much to notice before just to stave the awkward boredom. Like The tattered and dirty checkered strip of fabric he keeps around his wrist. It looks like it used to be cool grey with light red but its covered in enough substances to the point of darkening fifty shades over.

The room has once again gone silent, chilled. It honestly feels like time is at a stand still, like I'm waiting for a shoe to drop, rather than any actual words to come out of his mouth. Whatever it is, he has difficulty confiding in me over it.

The last thing I want is to inspire distrust among the group. If what Trevor is about to request concerns some form of mutiny I'll immediately refuse. Even though I intend to leave them, I don't intend to break them up or pit them against each other. He hasn't even spoken yet and I want no part of it already.

I knock him out of limbo by being the first to speak, "If you're going against Kellan I'm not in."

His eyes widen a bit, a tempered swallow, followed by another swipe of his tongue. _He really needs to find some chapstick_

"I'm sorry?" He questions, "No, that's not- wait.... why not?"

"We're heading towards safety aren't we? I trust he'll get us there eventually."

"So, you won't be interested in what I was actually going to ask, I take it?"

"Well, dear, that depends. What _were_ you going to ask?"

His mouth opens and I briefly think it's going to close again. "I don't think Kellan is leading us to the border anymore. I want my family to have a home and be safe, and that can only happen if we get to the border."

Trevors suspicions are not totally unfounded. Kellans mixing up of our destinations seems more purposeful than the few other times he legitimately got us lost. Now we're lost a lot more often than we were before. We're practically lost everyday. It's to the point he doesn't let anyone see the map, claiming it'd break his progress if he heard our input.

It didn't bother me so much as long as the general direction was still towards Idaho. Tucker was of course nonplussed for other reasons. I had just assumed that the little beta family hadn't voiced their dissent because they trusted Kellen. Now I know differently.

"As an alpha, you're our best bet for protection. I was going to ask you to come along with us."

"And you want my answer right now?"

"I want your answer whenever you have one"

I fix him with a stare, trying to assess whether he's honest or not. I have no clue how he's planning to sneak away, or how I'll be treated once they reach their destination. He already insulted me, and seems to be pretty skeptical of alphas. I understand the caution, but then, there's no purpose asking me to tag along if I make them that antsy and uncomfortable.

Maybe I should be the one exercising caution around him. The way he was eying that door, the nerves he was working up just talking to me about leaving, something between him and Kellan was bound to happen. I solidly wanted no part of it. However, for the protection of their omega...

Truly, Coco, as well as most omegas, was a weakness of mine. Though I don't care much for his betas, the sweet little thing deserved to be safe, and despite not knowing him as well as I'd like to, I felt like I owed just a little protection. I'm already offering that by staying with this group as long as I have. I wouldn't have joined if it weren't for those quizzical beady eyes.

Yet I have no real obligations to the omega or his betas, or even this group itself. My destination and theirs does not intersect. Our journey together was always meant to be brief and it will remain that way. I would have told Trevor as much if it weren't for the flickering buzz of the over head lights in the dinner.

The spell broke, my stare faltering. The small space was cascaded in yellow reflecting off of any surface it could reach. The napkin dispensers and the silver trim on the dining chairs glimmered. Out of the kitchen doors walked Kellan, smirk on his face.

"Back-up generator" he announces, waltzing over to a panel near the diner entryway and flipping one of the switches down. And just like that, the glow disappeared like it was never there as the lights cut off.

Conversation over, Trevor rejoins his little family on the floor, accepting Elliots hand rubbing his arm by resting his fingers over it, while Kellan goes back behind the service counter to rummage around.

Seeking out the ratty heater I spotted earlier I slide out of the red leather booth and move to drape my socks over it to dry faster. I had to swipe the inch of dust layered on the grey heater, beating its heart out to produce warmth. The poor machine was shaking like a leaf, making terrible little bumping sounds akin to a tiny jackhammer going to town on a particularly troublesome slab of concrete.

The ceiling fans are still on, kicking up more dust around the place. The smell of old coffee and expired bacon permeates thanks to the air being picked up and traveling. I'm bored enough to want something to do, but I don't want to get in another conversation with anyone other than Tucker at the moment. Since she's still busy in the back, I decide to inspect the rest of the diner.

I already know where the first two exits are. One is placed square at the front of the store, which is also an entry way. The other, labeled by the big red letters plastered on the glass, is across from the bathroom in the small nook at the right hand corner of the establishment. The walls inside the building are red all around, an old cherry color slightly weathered from wear and tear. The tiles are crooked and white, with dirt compacted into the grouts. Some where cracked, resin splitting to reveal the rough inside of the material. One particular crack spread from the last booth all the way to the bathroom door. It was like an aerial view of the grand canyon, but gross and less exciting.

The restroom door was slightly ajar, leading to a surprisingly clean all gender bathroom. It smelled faintly of pine-sol and strongly of weed, probably from workers sneaking off to light up during break or after work. There were names carved into the wall near the mirror. Some were written in red pen and thick black marker. A typical public lavatory in a dingy diner the middle of nowhere, Montana.

In the space between the restroom door and the exit, there was a wall with a large board smack in the middle. It was littered with 'missing' posters- both concerning animals and humans. A sweet looking Burmese mountain dog named Rufus pinned to the upper-most right corner, a scruffy chihuahua name pinky below it, a green eyed girl, six years old, right next to them. She wasn't the only kid up there. Papers were stacked tightly onto each other, pins hold them precariously. Briefly I wondered how it was even possible to pin up an entire inch of paper.

The six year old, Mikayla, was tacked on to nine other pages, each the same age as her. She was in a studio, one hand gripping a low pole and the other extended gracefully. Pink covered most of the picture, from the walls to her duffel sat in front of her, down to her ballet outfit with the little white tulle wrapped around her hips. Two children with hair platinum, thin, and long, just like hers, lingered near the edge of the picture. Wanting to be in the photo but not wanting to take her spotlight. Her smile was gap toothed and young, unaware that she was gone. Unaware that her missing paper was sitting here collecting dust in front of so many others.

Considering where the board is located, I highly doubt anybody spared a second glance at her or anyone else posted. No one else was looking for her, and maybe her family didn't make it. Maybe they weren't looking for her either. There's also the possibility that she wasn't even alive.

My mood significantly soured. A fog was building in my thoughts, blocking out my surroundings temporarily. This small child was a victim of this unforgiving and cruel world, as was everyone. It's hard to feel hopeful knowing that I could very well end up like her: lost, dead, or worst of all, alone. It occurred to me then that there might not be many children still left on this earth. There might not be many people still left on this earth.

When hordes started to form in major cities, the army dropped bombs. None deadly enough to level the cities but still big enough to turn the streets into piles of rubble and grilled flesh. They gathered infected into small gated areas then threw grenades, rounded up the sick and barely dead yet and injected them with cyanide. I stayed at one camp all of one day, till the groans of the infected and the cries of survivors wore me down. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat. It was hard to swallow, water tasting stale and warm, almost chalky.

After I left, I felt my resolve strengthening. I wasn't going to let this disaster change me. Yeah, even now I had my moments when my mind slipped and the reality of the world set in. The fears would keep me up sometimes. I'm scared of finishing this hellish road trip only to find my uncle isn't at the safe house. That he's somewhere out there, infected or bleeding to death, calling out my name one last time, without me to hear him.

But I decided then and there, that through it all I was going to be the toughest son of a bitch I know. If this world remained the same then I would simply keep surviving in it. I'm not going to let it eat me whole, nor will I let it keep me from desires. If anything, it made me hunger for it more. It doesn't matter if I have to scour the earth for the last omega left. I'm going to reach my uncle and I'm going to find myself an omega. Whichever came first.

I'm not going to end up like those people on the bulletin board. The board I hadn't realize was stripped of a few papers by Kellan; who I also hadn't realized was standing next to me.

Kellan doesn't say anything at first, studying the tall model looking brunette in his hand. An omega last seen volunteering near the Lewis and Clark park in Bozeman. Whoever was looking for her spread their wings out far. I couldn't blame them. She appeared the perfect omega, one I would have gladly challenged for when I was younger and more impulsive. I hadn't noticed it first, too distracted by her full lips and bright face framed by tight curls, but the omega was listed as missing a month before the earliest report of the outbreak. The description below last seen was heartbreaking.

 

**Likes: Cuddles, frogs, clementines, bed time stories, petting, plushies**

 

**Dislikes: Thunderstorms, moths, being alone**

 

**Nasiya is a non-verbal omega with high anxiety and asthma. She cannot speak**

**nor can she fend for herself alone, though she can write and understands written**

**word. As of 9/27 she is one month pregnant and has begun nesting. If you have**

**seen her, please contact the number below. If you have her, please make sure she**

**has her inhaler and return her to me at the address below. I'm pleading to any**

**alpha who may have her- she will not submit under any circumstances to any one**

**other than me- please bring her back so she can birth my pups home where she belongs**

 

Kellan let out a breath he'd been holding in, a soft sigh escaping him. There was no doubt in my mind this omega was stolen. It probably didn't matter how much her alpha pleaded, he likely never got her back. Somewhere out there was an omega who desperately needed her alpha and yet didn't have them.

"I've seen posters like this a million times even before the outbreak." His voice is quiet and caring "You'd think at some point you'd run out of sympathy. And for others I have. But not for the omegas," His eyes divert to the poster I was observing earlier- Mikayla. "Not for the kids either"

Something dark flashes in his eyes, like a memory ghosts over his face and casts shadows on it. He looks hurt. He looks like someone who's picture should be up there too. But the expression is shook off carelessly, the moment coming and passing. Kellan brightens up, pinning the papers back to the board. He turns to me.

"Nantucket found enough to make soup."

I happily accept the abrupt change of subject, "Finally, something edible."

 

* * *

 

 

The diner is significantly warmer than when we first entered it by the time food is ready. Kellan managed to find enough wood to actually start a fire, but due to the nature of the establishment, what with all the fire alarms and sprinklers, the food had to be cooked outside. Tucker really gave it her best shot, measuring out what spices were left behind trying to make a simple rice, bean, tomato, powdered cheese and corn mush into some kind of gourmet, and adding melted snow for volume. I commended her for her efforts; we all did.

Coco was offered to help, but Elliot refused for him, preferring his omega to be inside and warm. Coco didn't like that, judging by the scrunch of his nose and the bright red starting to light up the tips of his ears. There was nothing he could really do about his betas decision though, unless he attempted to defy him.

Despite my passiveness and general lack of meddle in the beta family's private affairs, I wouldn't have allowed him to act brazenly or lash out in front of me. I couldn't care less if he offended his betas, but insulting me by showing his aggression in my presence would not be tolerated. Luckily, it didn't come to that. The omega glanced my way just once and tightened his lip, keeping his head down as a way to temper himself.

The exchange went unnoticed to the beta audience busy laying out their bags and getting comfortable before the food was finished.

 

Cloth over my knees, warm bowl of food in my hand, and the odd sound of Tuckers laugh- like a DJs record scratch on repeat- as she told an old thanksgiving story, put me at ease. This moment right here, was one of few so far in the apocalypse that was good. A good memory I'll cherish just like the ones before the outbreak.

One hour into dinner and every ones bowl is delightfully empty-their bellies delightfully full. My dish is resting on my table, cloth inside, neat as always. Even though it's gotten later outside, the entire group is still up just shooting the shit. we're supposed to be up at sunrise to move early but I suspect that won't happen tomorrow. I still intend to wake up an early bird however, and position myself to sleep at my booth.

Tucker has a sudden look of realization on her face and decides to rush into the kitchen. There's a clanking noise and a few seconds later she comes back out with a small sealed glass jar in her hand. She extends it out to Coco.

"Its Tallow. They still had some in the cabinets" She explains, "I thought you might like some."

The omegas eyes go round, transfixed with the treat, he looks to Elliot, pleading silently. Elliot just huffs a short half-hearted chuckle. "That's usually for pregnant omegas, Coco". The omega just looks at him harder, verbally pleading now.

I'm close to closing my eyes, almost sure Elliot will refuse. Then I overhear it:

"Please" he says, then whispers, as if I wouldn't be able to catch it, "Please, alpha"

_Good lord this family_

To my surprise( _not really),_ Elliot gives in and allows his omega to have the treat. My nature won't allow me to go to sleep while the omega is still awake. If I were injured, maybe. If I were with a trusted alpha family member or trusted alpha friend, maybe. But that just wasn't the case.

Of course he takes his sweet time eating too. Logically, I know he's just trying to savor the taste, not knowing if he'll get another treat like this again. Yet I couldn't help mentally complaining to pass the time. It was all I could to let out a grumbled moan of exhaustion

 _Patience_ , I tell myself, _when you get your own omega you're going to need patience_

Eventually I hear a soft mewl, likely Coco, followed by a soft awe, likely Tucker. Even though he isn't my omega, I can't help the smile that graces my face as I listen to his breathing. Within the next five minutes, he's soundly unconscious, and two minutes after him, so am I.

 

In the morning there's a quiet contentedness among the group. The night before was one of our best. Somehow the unexpected desertion scheme Trevor was plotting didn't ruin the light atmosphere. Neither did the bulletin board of misery.

Most of the group is already dressed and putting away their items back into their bags. I decide to stuff my holster and gun into my bag - the metal had a way of freezing my leg to the bone when cold.

Walking over to the heater I find my socks have not only dried but have become exceptionally warm and cozy and... they shrunk.

No matter! while Kellans in the back shutting off the power for others to use, and Trevor is out scouting around the diner for any infected, Tucker and Elliot are chatting softly at the end of the diner, leaving Coco to fold up the blanket he had been using alone. I approached him, both socks and hand, and knelt eye level. Naturally he looked at the tip of my nose rather than directly into my eyes.

He let off his greeting scent, a marshmellow type smell, very sweet on the tongue. Sucking in a quick lungful, satisfied with his manners, I smile.

"These won't fit me anymore" I hold out the pair for him to take, "wear them.". It was a soft command, just barely a command actually, making the omega oblige. He removed his shoes stuffing each foot into an individual sock.

The cold would make my smell on him dampen, practically imperceptible to any other designation than alphas or omegas. His betas wouldn't fuss and he'd get to have warm feet, win-win.

 

By the time everybody is ready to leave, the sun has already set itself high as a bird in the sky. It was a new day, and it was probably going to be a good one, if the clean crisp air and the warmth were anything to go by.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly I know nothing about Montana, and geographical accuracy was not something I thought I would be writing for fun. But I did my best.
> 
> Comments always welcome.


	4. The World Is a Prelude: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sasha meets Maple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would've gotten this finished a week earlier but had WiFi problems and my phone is not the best keyboard. First time writing lemony smut like this. Mind the third person POV switch after the first line break.  
> More tags coming with this chapter.

I did the math in my head, several times over. Counting from the day I joined Kellan and the gang onward, it should have only taken me two months at maximum to reach my uncle. Even including the week we spent legitimately lost and the two days I spent sick and alone in between groups, we're way off schedule. I should be a day out from my uncle, but somehow we're barely a town over from the diner we left yesterday.

So I did the math again, accounting for every possible variable, outlier, and inconvenience. Coco required an extra hour of sleep between traveling, the group took breaks for the occasional hunt, Kellan screws up the map every two days like clockwork, squatting from small hordes which only takes about half an hour at a time, then the winter making our stays longer...

But it still doesn't add up. We've been moving for more than a month now and yet the progress is minimal. Considering where we started from, more than a two day variance between estimated arrival and actual arrival shouldn't even be a possibility. It's like I haven't even started traveling yet.

Bozeman was my check point for the other half of my journey. The first part was my exit from Michigan, then the flight from the base camp to Montana. The second part, the one currently undergoing a slew of complications, was departing from Bozeman to Nordman, Idaho. I expected the journey to be long, a little arduous, but no where had my initial calculations anticipate being as slowed down by a group and it's sneaky leader as I am now.

Some of the blame would be unfair to place on my companions, I know. Coco couldn't help being an Omega and his Betas aren't obligated to put him at risk just to appease me and my eagerness to be on time. Even my own inconvenience to myself, my temporary sickness, could not have been avoided.

If I ride it out with them until I reach Nordman, **if** I even reach there, I might be too late. My uncle isn't one to flake on me or anyone. Every time the school bell rang I trusted him to be right outside, illegally parked in the blue line, leaning on his red truck waiting to greet me with open arms. Whenever I needed him to be there, he was there; no exceptions or excuses. But in the event that he experienced any interruption in the plans we laid out last we talked then I wouldn't bet his life on staying in one place, unprotected and alone.

His safe house was stacked up the ass and back. Since day one he was prepared. I'm not scared of him starving and wasting away. Yet I am scared of him being overpowered. Being hurt or worrying if I'm hurt. I'm scared of him missing me. Most of all I'm scared of him thinking I'm dead and giving up on me, or worse; thinking I've given up on him.

Sitting with my back ram-rod straight, chin held high in the mini circle, I survey the bodies spread across the repair shop floor like butter across toast. The air is musty, like most places these day. A thin layer of grease and oil and gasoline radiates from every corner, joined by the smell of candy mints, grandmother perfume, and cheap leather, like a reminder of what this place was. A bustling venue for cars and customers, now a temporary hide out for seemingly the only survivors in Montana.

To the left of my peripherals, Tucker has commandeered three chairs and shoveled herself into them. Mostly only the top of her head was visible to my position but I could see her legs were through the hoops of the arms of the second chair, braced by them. She'd have a stiff back and her knees would likely be all wobbly in the morning for sure. I briefly wondered if she'd panic waking up and probably flip out of the chair with her legs still trapped.

Kellan is occupying the space directly in front of her, and would get a chair leg straight to the face if she did freak. His snoring was drowning out the sound of Tuckers light breathing, his own chest continuing a stuttering rise and fall, shaky like a car down a gravel road. Black hair mussed and greasy, eyes closed, and actually peaceful. Under normal circumstances, just from appearances alone, I wouldn't have so easily guessed he was untrustworthy.

The room was too dark where they were to get the details of the Beta families sleeping forms on the right side of the room. Unlike the diner there was no accessible back up generator. We weren't even sure if there was a generator to begin with as the majority of the shop had been locked up, save for the waiting area and an office filled to the brim with boxes of paperwork. It didn't matter anyway because the only person up at the moment was me, the self designated first watch. The group has already gotten used to sleeping in the dark by now.

Of what little I could make out of them, it seemed Coco was wedged in a fetal position between Trevor and Elliot, with Trevors back being the one facing me. Elliot was a heavy breather. Every time he exhaled the hair on the back of Cocos head fanned out, like a peacocks tail made of chocolate brown locks. It didn't disturb Cocos rest though, meaning the omega was accustomed to it. He must have also been accustomed to the added weight of Trevors leg being hiked up over his pair of lovers.

It might've been some small attempt to make his omega feel secure and strapped down as they often like, or it could just be habit. Either way, it disgusted me. Just a little bit. Most modern betas naturally wouldn't know a whole lot about dynamic manners or the handling of omegas. An Alpha and Omegas instincts ran side by side biologically. Alphas had a deep rooted understanding of an Omegas needs that Betas would be incapable of fully experiencing. Sure, betas had their own set of instincts- even a few involving omegas- but they weren't fine tuned to the other designation.

Trevor and Elliot curling around their Omega, and their Omega snuggling into them, like a blanket on a cold winter night(which it was), is picturesque and cute in a hallmark or Omega romance channel kind of way, but the gesture is instinctually meaningless. Coco most likely didn't feel any relief or security by that alone, and shielding an omega in a currently safe environment probably didn't give either of the Betas the rush it might give Alphas. And yet they, and Kellan and Tucker, still lay sound and unaware of the thoughts running through my head; the ones telling me now is the time to leave.

Seeing this journey through to the end with them was a future getting harder and harder to imagine the more time is wasted on Kellans antics. Each hour I spent away from Uncle I felt like I was selfishly failing him. I wanted to like Kellan, wanted to trust him too, but reaching my uncle is more important than the whole "friends I've made along the way" shtick. Normally, I'm a loyal person. I've had friends in school who I stuck it out with through all the popularity contests. However, once the apocalypse rained down, none of that mattered. The worlds enduring more than a popularity contest right now. My _uncle_ is enduring more than that right now. There has yet to be anyone on this earth I'm more loyal to than my own uncle.

I know I can still trust Tucker with what little information she knows about me and with where I'm heading. I gave her the exact address, coordinates and all as a matter of fact, because I want her to make it in this world too. She and I had a budding friendship before it came to this and I'd love to continue it, I'd love for her to join my uncle and me when she's ready for commitment- whenever she comes around to it. I don't quite hold out hope she will, but Tucker surprises me in a good way.

Nevertheless, this group is not compromised entirely of people with the same character as Tucker. I liked the omega. His beady and inquisitive eyes, the angel shape face so common among his designation, even the spitfire attitude he drops in a second when faced with so much as an Alphas reproachful gaze. He gets these moments where he has a burst of bravery regarding defiance and sometimes danger. His Betas deal with his personality fine enough, but his instincts, especially during heat, probably put them through a whirlwind. Although, around me he seems more timid- mindful of the sharp boundaries and clear power imbalance between our designations.

There were moments I would study him and he would he catch me in the act. I was shameless and didn't apologize, but I didn't need to. Omegas should be viewed; they were Beautiful. Or at least most were. Good Omegas specifically deserved to be showered with attention. I wouldn't call Coco bad- he was a quiet spitfire though. I liked to see the blush wind up his features when I regarded him _too_ long. My intentions weren't to tease him- I just found it to be a pretty picture. His smell especially reminded me of all the things I wanted in life: an Omega and a large pack of pups- three or more litters if I could manage- nibbling at my uncles heels.

Simply having the Omega exist in my presence, without doing anything except look at me the way he does, was one of the only good things this group has done with my time. Omegas always have that affect on Alphas, even ones they aren't bonded to. They exude-rather their scents exude- an innocent calm and tranquility that washes over the nerves like standing underneath a small waterfall. Many smell like common comforts and sweets. Fruits and spices and various botanicals are among the popular variety of aromas. Coco in particular smelled just as his name suggest: like coco powder and chocolate milk, all rich and creamy.

The impact Omegan aromas had on people is the reason the scent business and high-end staff Omegas were trending before the fall. The designations all have different common smells, and different odors they could release depending on emotion or intention. Anger scents, Happy scents, friendly scents, greeting scents, etc. I loved his marshmallow greeting scent and I'd painfully miss it.

Though Coco is sweet, his Betas I feel less love for. Elliot wasn't like his husband; never harsh or mean or brash. Hell, Elliot was hardly anything. In terms of our tiny acquaintance: there wasn't one. He saw right through my false joviality, most likely having had a career that required it as well. He never bothered me and I never found him interesting enough to try bothering. A boring man, but one who kept to himself instead of stirring the pot. His partner the opposite.

For whatever reason, Trevor gets antsy when he hasn't argued with someone in a bit. The man was harmless to people he deemed harmless, of which I'm sure now that I'm one of those people. Still, he was intent on pushing every matter he could, and every button he could to go with. Recent discussions - of which involved him pleading for my help in ways that did not include the word 'please'; a personal pet peeve of mine - has also revealed that he is a schemer. I have no reason to believe he's a faithful ally.

Not that I'm allowed to pass judgement so quickly. Unbeknownst to anyone here, during the night-when the stretch of ground beside me starts to feel particularly cold, I entertained the fantasy of stealing away his Omega for myself, convincing myself he doesn't deserve him. I'd never do it, of course - too worried about karma and how I'd feel if some one tried taking the one I loved dearly for themselves. But if Trevor saw my thoughts, could read them easily like the first page of a Dr. Suess book, he'd be quick to judge too.

I'm not trying to ignore that they're human, but both him and Kellan have worked hard to make this group the easiest one to leave. And Tucker and Coco have exerted no effort at all to make it one of the easiest ones to stay with. I'd gladly take them both if I could.

Yet it wasn't ultimately my decision where they went or how they got there. What was up to me was how long I would allow my time and energy to be wasted. My uncle needed me- still needs me. I can't deny him his only niece, of which he considers his own progeny. The ways in which he occupied his time now must be limited. Day after day he goes without the distractions and minutia that enabled him to handle my absence. Now he must be counting down the days of my arrival- calculating each and every possible inconvenience and explanation for my tardiness. Over and over again just like I have.

Either that or something more sorrowful; he might be soaking up every last memory of our time together. Grieving eyes trying to physically cast the image of my gap toothed smile, big after catching my first trout, onto the too bare walls of his hideout, like a video projector.

My mind was made up. I'd go to Bozeman alone. I'd likely make the rest of the trip to Nordman alone too. For the next two months I may just never see another soul. Or might come across the most unfortunate of folks. The future is very uncertain, everything is a blur of confusion and desolation, but there's a glimmer of hope yet. I know there is.

Not wanting to waste anymore of the scant five hours I had before Tucker woke for her shift, I grabbed my pack from one of the corners, throwing it onto my shoulder. Kellans bag was beside mine, unassuming. It took me less than a second to decide to slide a hand in and nick his compass right out of the pouch. Quietly I crept to the edge of the room, moving slowly. I looked back once, only once, my eyes drifting over Cocos form, his scent still stuck in my nose, gentle and warming, before stepping out into the cruel freezing night air. He looked just like a baby, snug and careless, depending and trusting on the two men swearing to protect him.

I remembered that image, burned it into my skull for a rainy day. With the sound of old snow crunching under my feet heralding the true beginning of my journey, I slipped into the night, pulling out the nabbed compass and heading in the only direction that mattered: North.

 

* * *

 

 

Four days. All it took was four days of walking, hiding and scavenging to reach Bozeman. Sashas tenacity was strong but it couldn't move time. Whatever it was afflicting Kellan's ability to let go, she hoped it got better. But she was still pissed. Being taken advantage of by some beta wasn't pleasant, and if it wasn't for being held back she likely would have reached her uncle by now. With each mile of progress she made she was more and more glad to have left.

Sasha wanted to give Kellan the benefit of a doubt- _maybe he just wasn't bright enough to properly read a map_ \- but ruminating on the subject only served to highlight flaws in her previous group. Every lie and misdirect was falling apart at the seams. To be fair, they were shoddy to begin with. Trevors plotting made her realize something; she didn't stay because the entire group had earned her friendship, nor did she stay out of an inability to find her own way to Nordman. She stayed for the companionship. Tucker was easy going and chatty, someone she got along with well. Coco was an Omega; something she cherished and longed for.

Though she was thrilled to meet her first checkpoint, she continued past with a heavy heart. Attaching herself so quickly was foolish and bizarre, but lonely people do strange things. Sasha might not have considered it hard to get where she was right now, however that's only because there was nothing and no-one to impede her. But being slowed down by Kellans deceptive ineptitude, and being slowed down by a trailing Omega and their sleepy eyes in the middle of the day were two different things that evoked two different feelings.

Resigning from the group also meant leaving behind yet another earthly comfort in short supply. Omegas weren't just wildly in the woods somewhere, and it's not like she'd happen upon one every mile. The city was mostly empty - excluding one man sat with a loaded sniper above a worn out pizzeria. She hadn't seen another soul until reaching the edge. some groups were passing through in working vehicles, ones she briefly contemplated stealing, and other groups were holing up for the day. They were all small - the largest one being four people full. None she could smell from the distance she was keeping appeared to be Omega.

Finding her way back to her uncle was a single minded goal of hers at the moment, but even the goal she held onto like a vice didn't stop the aching for companionship. The purpose of her move to Michigan was to experience life in the city, among swells of people, and to catch a mate. She got the first objective, yet not the second.

 

While on the move, she had avoided many of the perils that came with her venture; from the shambling and hungry monsters clicking their teeth, to the occasional rabid survivor. It wasn't entirely luck that had garnered her safety yet she thanked her lucky stars anyway. She kept her head low, passed tiny checkpoints, and made each step after another count. But once she had successfully worked through to the end of the broken maze the city had mutated into, she decided to take a break.

The long walks took more of a toll on her than she'd like to admit. Her toes cramp, the tendons in her ankles felt taut, and her shoulders were frozen tense from all of the shivering and edginess. A short respite was much needed. Locating a place to rest though, was increasingly difficult. Out in the middle of nowhere had less places and therefore less fuss over where to sleep for the night because it wasn't like there were many choices. At the outside of the city it felt very vulnerable, like an open sore.

Hordes were known to roam urban areas. Not out of anything instinctual, as far as Sasha knew, but because many zombies were in military imposed no-go zones. Many streets were blocked with white boards, scrawled warnings marring them. Built up blockades eventually broke every now and then, and when they did, masses of zombies came loose. The city was only safe if you knew how to hide yourself- which was the tricky part since there weren't many good spots to hide.

It also didn't help that most places were left in dirty roach infested ruins. Some where too far shot to hell or bloodied to identify what they originally were supposed to be - post office or meat plant? Decrepit buildings stood stock still in time- at night, looming shadows like scornful figures- staring down the worst of humanity. They stood giants, monuments to what man used to be, now derelict just like man too. Instead of staring in awe at the highrises like she used to, she saved all of her energy for a brisk tour of the borough- searching for some place close enough to scavenge, but far enough to feel safe.

Strolling through, checking windows enabled her to fully dissect her surroundings. It was amazing all the little things ignored or taken for granted in daily life. Peeling floor tiles and aging grime in a tiny studio sized startup companies office space would have been cleaned and restored in swift fashion. The blood spatters covering the floor of the firehouse wiped and the overturned fire truck corrected. Police stations and emergency rooms reeked of death and decay, while cafe's and convenience stores were utterly vacant. Every crevice and corner safe to scavenge was raided of all possible items, not a scrap or morsel left for Sasha.

Grocers, home improvement outlets, department stores, even toy stores: left in shambles. Product lay strewn, covering the cheap linoleum like fallen leaves in autumn. The acrid stench of gasoline and gunpowder stitched into the walls just like the bullet holes, sickly rotten smell of old maggots curling up around every nose in a mile, like a giant olfactory toxicity sign. Mold grew up shipping containers and broken refrigerators, like vines on a garden wall, and discarded food wore mold like an expensive fur coat. Some things had rotted so badly the slightest puff of air blew it into tiny particles. The canned food isle was bare; predictably so. One can of tomato soup, 2 years expired, lay alone, teetering on the edge of a shelf.

Each store told a similar story. One exception was a little mom and pop organic grocery right on the edge where she was. Most of the food worth any thing was gone, but the non perishable baked goods and a few Omega items were left untouched.

The first hardware place she decided to venture was relatively clean- relatively meaning _not_ crawling with bugs and foul stenches. The air inside Chuckees Home Lot was made out of sawdus: Stiff and course. She choked in the entryway, her mouth coated in tiny little chips, eyes watering and nose burning up, preparing for a minute long sneezing fit. Nothing was filtered, due to the lack of working ventilation systems. The entire store was wrapped in a light sheen of dust. Racks were just as empty there, as well as the other two stores she checked. It was spacious though, and the back office was unlocked. It was a great back up choice if she couldn't find something decent, so she memorized the location.

Surprisingly, there was a designer clothing center. The windows were smashed in, a giant hole square in the middle of the display. It was modest, barely bigger than a two bedroom apartment, and clandestine. Little bursts of color generated from the abstract art on the walls in the all white and sandy wood floored retailer.

Sasha picked what garments were left from off the display hooks, ripping articles too small to wear into little strips of makeshift bandages. A light blue pair of jeans and a long sleeved silk shirt was pulled over her skin. The clean clothe smell made her release a sigh of gratefulness. Light and smooth fabric stretched across her arms just the right way, reminding her of life before. She was always primped- though not as lavishly as the wealthy folks she worked with.

A toy store was the last place she expected to be ransacked. The smiling cartoon faces plastered in pastel bright colors across the space was giving her eerie vibes- like walking inside of a real life creepy-pasta picture. The smell of stale cigarettes - like the can of old buds a coworker of hers used to keep under her desk - and an abandoned brown car carrier waiting in the middle of the deserted bike isle only added to the atmosphere. She stayed a minute longer, thinking there might still be something of worth there, before realizing there truly wasn't.

It isn't complicated to understand how the streets and the stores came to look this way. Families ran scared in the first days, loading up on whatever they could whether they thought they'd needed those supplies or not. Alphas, and indirectly Omegas, were partially why most places were vacant. Alphas wanted as many resources as possible to be better mates or potential mates, and Omegas required quite a bit of modern commodities for their heats.

A good majority of all the wreckage came from the first press release about the disease. Stores swarmed mass crowds of people larger than the ones seen even on black Friday. It was to be expected. The fear got to people and all they wanted to do was secure themselves. People pushed people, ran over them, stole from them. Neighbor against neighbor, fighting for resources. Those same people would have to face each other after the world gets back on its feet. They'll have to look each other in the eyes, filled with remorse, or hate and anger, and accept what happened - what kind of people everything turned them into. Until then, they'll continue their ways.

 

Descending through the pallor streets to the outer limits gifted Sasha a small sense of tranquility. Where she was, sun beginning to set, passing survivors had long since gone. Stone buildings and sparse grass littered her vision. A building, two stories large and the only one made of bricks, caught her attention. The mottly charred red was like a beacon, leading her to it. There were very few great qualities about it, but it was a unique place to stop, maybe snoop around and see if maybe there was something of worth hidden inside.

The interior was hard and cold and desolate, as far as the first floor was concerned. Chips in the ground and in the walls itself looked like markers. Either counting the days or leaving behind a message. Other dents just seemed like random scrapes, perhaps caused by, or in the middle of, a scuffle. The air was spotty and old but otherwise clear, likely because of the open window that Sasha had used as an entrance.

The structure was tall, abandonment evident by the poles and plank platforms conforming around a half finished set of stairs that lead to the second floor. Each step looked bowed, curving like the hull of a boat. The distinct smell of rust and light mold informed her that the wood and the metal had seen better days. The building didn't seem fortified against rain and therefore had been succeptable to the melted snow.

Sasha ventured further, the sounds of chirping crickets quieting as she moved away from the window. They prattled on and on, communicating with each other at the expense of her annoyance.  Soon their conversations became muffled by the barrier of bricks she was encompassed in. However, the died noises did not mean the beginning of silence - instead, it highlighted a much fainter sound; one coming from the second floor.

A humming crackle barred by distance piquing Sashas interest. By her first estimate, the place was empty - but perhaps she had missed something. Perhaps that was only the case for the ground level. Making her way to the steps increased the noise, defining it with an occasional pop. There was a bit of a constant _whoosh_ sound, like heavy wind flying past a speeding cars cracked window.

It wasn't until she was crawling precuriously up the stairs, attempting to keep her full standing weight from completely breaking them, that she could successfully identify the hum as a fire. The immediate shift in temperture, from icy to a light sheen of warmth, gave it away. Her senses had not previously picked up on the noise or the smell of burning wood now drowning her nose.

There wasn't a drastic difference between the appearance of the first floor and the second one. It was all still sparse; no chairs or desks, like one would expect an office to be decorated with. Nor were there any beds and dressers like the comfort an apartment would offer. Instead there was a barrel, green and scraggly and hobo-ish, obviously from out an alley somewhere.

The warmth and the noise of the fire had come from there, the beaten up metal crate doing it's best to keep the place warm and lit with the raging heat clawing up its sides, cracking like a whip against stone. It had been going long, judging by the red glow starting to skirt around the rim. The fire was likely started by a lighter- being reset whenever it fizzled out.

Less innocuous next to the bin was a hastily erected little tent. A plain blanket, thin and white laid over top metal cords and pitchs, like skin placed loftily over bone. Some poor attempt at privacy or warmth, who knows? But the shivering silhouette, perched down like a block in the wreath of its makeshift cove, was appearing the worst for wear already- not that much was visible through the covering. Before Sasha has even laid eyes on them she feels pity.

Alone in the cold and the quiet, freezing to death despite every best effort to heat up. They must be in pain, thinking of their last breath - maybe their last day on earth. It could be sobering up behind those curtains, accepting their fate. Every wrong and every right flashing before them, memories like a reel showing all the high and low lights. 

The fire at their back - or maybe front, it was hard to tell - was the only thing keeping this person company. It whispered sweet nothings, soothing the atmosphere with its calming voice. 

 _Fire. Safety._ It said.

But still, the form kept shivering. In fact, more than it should be even in these less than desirable conditions. Snow hasn't fallen on her journey since the second day prior to her abrupt departure from her group. This was far from the coldest day she's experienced in or outside of Montana.

Despite her newly acquired clothes and her trusty winter coat, she could still feel a light warmth from the makeshift heater - and she was all the way across the room! Something wasn't quite right. It prickled at her skin to watch the mysterious figure any longer. The more her gaze hovered the more she suspected that shivering was writhing, that the shake of that head and those shoulders could be a contort.

She didn't have to make it up in her head what the beginning of a change looked like. In her conversation with Trevor she was being honest. That old woman really did get bit and really did ask for help. It was impossible to forget the burst of her irises, leaking like paint spilling down a canvas. Her gums had grayed and shriveled as her candy cane smile pointed right towards Sasha, the lady doing her best to assure her it was the good thing to do. End it all. Cancel the elders transformation from a person to a gaunt and aggressive creature of decay.

If it was the good thing to do - or if one could convince her it was the good thing to do- Sasha wouldn't spare more than 3 merciful seconds to do it. And she didn't then. Gunpowder and death stunk the air, twisting her lungs into knots. She heaved, but she hadn't eaten enough for anything to come up. Regrouping with those college kids felt like stepping back into a bubble. One of them, some blond tall jock type- Brady- had the gall to look happy over a loot of hard cider. She drunk it all while they slept, and cared enough only to flip him off when he complained the next day.

Sasha wasn't herself then - not for the rest of that next morning. Yet she found a way to bring herself up again, holding on with an iron grip to the happiness from her childhood, the practiced collectiveness and jovial personality that got her through the most pressing days of work. Every banana split shared with her uncle after an aced test, every horrible client her boss demanded recieved courtesy, every good client that slid her a tip or a compliment, each of those things seemes like they were meant to serve this purpose; to uplift her after falling into the dark parts of the new world.

Though the happy thoughts got her out of a drought, none of them could erase the memory of that smell. That smell she couldn't find here. Yet her skin still flailed, goose bumps rising like anthills covering a dirt road. This prompted her to take a sniff, a small one that caught the char of the wood kindling, and the salt of a sweatsoaked body. But no rot was there, no creeping of death. The person lay unaware and unencumbered

So she took another one - big this time. Nostrils flaired and lungs expanded to full capacity moments after. Breath dragging in the air around her, sifting through. When she found what she was looking for - the wrongness- she startled. She understood the problem - not that it was a problem. Her skin was vibrating, a million little ants skittering across flesh underneath. She felt full to bursting with some kind of relief or pride or happiness. How could she not with her lungs at mast, full of a scent so sweet she was sure to get a sugar rush just standing there.

Pancakes fresh off the stove, cooked with fresh buttermilk and confectioners powder. whipped cream - light and frothy and melting on the tongue. Then cream cheese spread, given a dash of nutmeg for taste, scraped thin on the plate. But the most intoxicating scent - the one so delicious it had her silently discarding her bag at the stairs and unbuttoning her coat without a care for the cold - Maple syrup.

Saccharin and thick, glassy and honey like. Theres the sweetness of honey, but also the tang of maple wood and crisp fall leaves. It's far beyond simply smell now - the scent has cloyed through to her mouth. Drool pools at her front teeth, incisors drenched with her alpha claim and prepared. Sappy and heavy and akin to tea, like it's own kind of candy, molasses rolls right off the top of her tongue - delicious.

It completes the arrangement - breakfast in the morning. Home and hearth, blankets rolling in that scent. Whole house rolling in that scent. Cooked with love and delight, the end of summer. A doe eyed sweetheart fattening up their alpha with their smell alone, inticing the alpha to be kind and gentle. Her inscisors were itching, waiting to bite into the first pancake. To lick up each of the ingredients and swallow them.

She was one booted foot closer without even realizing it, unable to stop herself from attempting to indulge in the desires of her instincts. The world was beginning to burn up around her, the fur of her winter coat becoming scratchy. She was shedding it along the way - even the weather couldnt keep her from this treasure; from this omega.

Because that's what was behind the shoddy drapes, shaking like a leaf. An omega, ripe and heady with fertility, searching for an alpha. More or less, their body searching for an alpha. Mentally, that omega could be anywhere. It could hate alphas, it could be scared of them - it could be queer and more interested in other omegas. Wherever it may  be on the inside didn't matter. It wouldnt even register until well after the heat.

The fact that it was at any point conscious or capable of putting together the makeshift for privacy was inconceivable at that moment. Sasha had held herself up a second, worrying that she was encroaching upon someone elses property. Originally she had passed it off for a warmth canopy, but if the omega was in heat it was already hot to the touch. The salt she smelt earlier told her the omega had sweat enought for two people despite the cold, so obviously the sheet was for hiding. 

A quick scan of the area that she could see had confirmed that it was alone, one measly can of food discarded with no company a few inches from the fire. Strategies appeared to have been implemented to keep itself here relatively undetected. They weren't good strategies, but she wouldn't complain. It left the darling doe open for her to take, smell untainted by any other claim. In the short amount of time she's known about this omegas existance - and the shorter amount of time she knew it was omega - she latched onto its scent completely. The world is better than it ever was with this smell in the air.

An omega this sweet smelling during estrus was experiencing it's most fertile cycle of the year. It probably ached enough to attempt relieving itself - which would explain the shivers. Poor little fingers trying and failing to fill up and satisfy the way a knot would. The omega wasn't alert, too preoccupied with it's bodies longing to breed to notice the other person creeping towards them. Sasha only had the best intentions on her mind as she approached, though some very loud betas and maybe alphas would disagree.

Omegas in their deepest state of distress and breeding frenzy were highly liable to manipulation and/or coercion. It was unclear on olfactory alone how long the omega had been in estrus. Sound would be a much better implicator, but that wouldn't do much good here. Normally there would be little yowls and moans, calling out to any alpha in hearing distance that it's ready to procreate. 

This one was quiet as a mouse. If Sasha listened really hard, just past the crackling fire, she could detect ragged breathing. Stutters and slightly less faint exhales were the only sounds she could use to confirm her suspicions. It could be silently chewing through its nest, stifling themself, or it could be a non-verbal omega, already unused to creating a racket.

Sasha wasn't going to roll the dice when she could easily figure out herself which was true just by announcing her presence to it. The creature was scared enough to silence itself, build a scrapbook tent, and repeatedly light a fire to disguise their scent. No good alpha would leave it that way; terrified and possibly agonized from the lack of knot.

Questions of morality and alphahood aside, she wasn't sure she could walk away if she tried. Her feet were determined to carry her to that scent, turning to lead every time she thought of walking away. And she thought about walking away at least once.

She wasn't invincible to her insecurities involving omegas. Providing for and protecting one would be even more difficult for her now than it would have been beforehand. It wasn't just other alphas and thieves any more - there were undead roaming the earth. Finding shelter and food, avoiding hordes, fending off the infected and the uglier of survivors all posed complications to taking care of an omega. 

Pre-apocalypse, simply getting time off work was hard enough to accomplish. Before her Promotion, putting food for two on the table would have been a struggle. The odds have truly stacked against her and every other omega/family-orientated alpha survivor. The omegas themselves would have just as bad an experience when it came to trying to care for their pups, and she loathed to think of all the alpha-less lost bred omegas. Scared and alone. No omega should ever be like that.

This one could have a different life - Sasha could still try her best to give it a good one. Close to the tent and remaining undetected, she second guessed opening the sheets to reveal what's inside. One last consideration kept her back: her uncle.

Sashas uncle wanted nothing but happiness for her. She also knew that during this period on earth he'd love nothing more than to have her there with him, at his side. And she would love to be there too. Taking this omega with her would impede her progress significantly. She couldn't even be sure she would have enough time between stops or during the travel to train it properly while their relationship was fledgling. Acquiring omega specific supplies for them would mean more scavenging then she usually had the energy for. And on such scavenging trips they would be left unprotected especially since she had no other trusted friend to look after it. She wouldn't give up on her mission, but she didn't want to give up on this omega either.

The scent wafting from behind the sheets was re-released with more vigor - the omega giving itself a soft climax, low grunt audible from outside. It was almost unfair the way that scent begged and pleaded with her to come and complete it, to wrap it up with her own scent and cradle the omega. Blood rushed through her like the world's fastest river current, making her fingers prickle as if she stuck them on a spinning wheel. The stream reached down into her, curdling her stomach, giving her butterflies. 

Her body knew what her decision was; it made up it's mind before she did - secondary ovarian duct lubricating itself and opening for her penis to begin swelling, ready to peek out it's head. She clenched her fist, fighting it back at first. Sasha did want an omega - she's wanted one her whole life. A starry eyed doe to sit on her lap while she lavished it with affection, a good cook to fill her full of food and love, and a wonderful hen to which she could give many pups. Now that she was being handed that very opportunity on a silver platter, like a cowering beta facing a mountain of an alpha; she hesitates. 

A dream is nice and all, yet there was no assurances that a perfect bitch was hidden in those curtains. Was she really lonely enough to tie herself to an omega she didn't know? Was an anchor on her travels worth it? When all was said and done, would she love it no matter what? 

The answer was yes.

Taking in a deep breath, one that allowed that syrupy scent to entrench every crevice of her lungs - and soul. She wasted no preamble pushing back the drape to drink in the sight of her treasure. All encompassing hopes and passions were being realized here, coming to life right in front of her. As soon as the omega was unveiled the image of a rounded belly, stubby legs of a toddler pup wrapped around it, flashed in her mind.

Similar to opening ones eyes to the sky on a sunny day, the omegas greatness was blinding. Certainly, her expectations for this omega were already high, but somehow he still managed to surpass them in every way in well under a minute.

Nothing could have readied her for the giant Square nest - mix-matched materials creating a collage of pastels and sepia and earth tones - with the lithe figure sprawled smack in the middle, pointer and middle finger jabbing as far into his hole as possible, slick pouring from his entrance like melted ice cream down a cone and covering the backs of his thighs in the fragrance of candy. Copious amounts of his body's own natural lubricant were spread over his hands and lower half, wetting him with it.

Nimble digits bunched roughly over the shape of his member - which was limp and weeping in his lap. He was jerking at it hesitantly with random pulls and tugs that looked more painful than pleasurable. His eyes were closed, lids hiding every emotion from Sasha, but small streaks of salinity had slid out of the corners. Small lines adorned his forehead as he appeared to be concentrating on reaching that pleasure spot inside himself. Like a fresh picked apple, his entire body, face included was bright red. Shade from the tent and light from the fire only served to make him look more rouge and anguished.

As wrecked as he was, it's a wonder he wasn't on deaths bed, gasping for water to replenish the fluids his body was easily dispensing. There wasn't much in the tent from what she could see, except a pile of clothes at the far end. Beside the tent was a large and empty water jug, explaining away the lack of dehydration. Little perspiration drops in the bottle evidence of water.

Up close, his breathing was easier to discern - mini hitches in the flow of his inhales and exhales. That wasn't his first orgasm of the day. It couldn't possibly be, judging by not just the sound but also the redness of his parts. The squelching of his fingers scissoring himself ardently seemed to have rung out in the open after she pulled apart the curtains. She recounts making jam in the summer with her uncle and the spulching of the berries being squished. The noise was obscene and arousing, but altogether disheartening; the omega was suffering through this, desperate to achieve relief.

His actions slowed, lethargic as he tried to pull his soaked digits out of his puffy anus. The rim had gripped him tight, searching for something to hold on to; something like a knot. Tugging them free left it slightly agape, hungry and leaking juice. Maple leaves and fresh pancakes seeped into Sashes bones, steamrolling over her like the vapors in a sauna. Tantalising tingles drove around her senses, lighting up her nostrils, making her mouth salivate. She wanted to feel the plushness of his skin on hers, wanted to put his hands aside and work him open herself. Logically she wouldn't need to - by the looks of it he was slicked up enough to slide a rocket in smoothly.

Sasha had been so enthralled by the display of his wet ass that she failed to notice the shiny pair of eyes, wide and trained directly on her. She was inching in towards him unconsciously, attention glued to his pert rear. 

A squeak of alarm snapped her out of orbit as the omega kicked out his legs, scrambling to the other end of his nest. The alpha had found herself boring into the frightened golden gaze of this breeding doe. 

The doe himself found his heart beating out of his chest, ready to cry after locking eyes with this complete stranger who looked a second away from snatching him up and railing him till oblivion came for them both.

 

* * *

 

First to break was the hen. His nest was compromised and an alpha was imposing upon his heat. He wasn't naive; there were no good or sparing alphas out there. This one would like nothing more than to rape him while he's in season, just like any other. He was weaker than he normally was in this state, vulnerable and by extension malleable, but no less aware. What he needed much more than a knot right now was to get to safety, far from the slobbering heathen staring him dead.

One hand shielding his genitals and the other shoving at the ground for momentum he tore through the back of his tent, curtains whooshing behind him. The surprise stalled the alpha long enough for him to get half way to the stairs. Wind swept his hair, cooling his cheeks, as he put all his energy towards making his escape.

Feet hit stubbled cement floor in quick succession, a pitter patter following. Those few moments he felt like he was flying faster than even the top Olympic sprinter. His sight had narrowed down to the rickety wood steps, his second to last hope of escaping this situation. Out running an alpha wasn't impossible, though it was unlikely. He didn't care about his chances; all he cared about was making it.

But just like that, as quick as he ran, the alpha caught up with him. Black strands whipped around an angled face and strong arms stretched out to intercept him. A body as solid as the concrete he was running on stood between him and his freedom. Foolishly, he believed he could knock the stranger off her balance and topple her.

Boots planted - like a tree - she was prepared for the full impact of him ramming into her, trying to dislodge her. She didn't budge. Rooted to the spot and affronted by his flightiness, she growled - or he thought it was a growl, it didn't seem like she put all too much effort in it. Traditionally, omegas who failed at successfully fleeing would accept defeat and present - not push back. His little shove indicated that he was refusing her and her alphahood, which was true - he was.

Seeing that there was no way around the alpha blocking his only safe exit, he backed as far away from her as the space would allow. The dawning reality made him feel faint; this alpha was drawing closer than what would ever make him comfortable. She was throwing off aggressive pheromones, stinking up his oxygen with gasoline and an unspoken demand for submission.

The alpha licked her lips - mouth wide and nostrils flared. Her shoulders were hunched, an age old instinct to deter him from attempting to run again. Visually, it was intimidating - a confident and toned alpha, jaw sharp as steel. She wasn't exactly muscle-bound, but she was a head taller. His shoulder twinged from colliding hard with her midriff. She was built out of stone, heavy and unyielding.

When his back hit the farthest wall, he began to tremble. He was stuck. A determined alpha sniffed him out and was keeping him from leaving. If he couldn't think himself out of this, he knew what would happen next. Without his approval, his hole gushed more slick at the idea. He grimaced at the slimy feeling of it dripping down his passage. 

The alpha smellt it, taking in as much of the aroma as she could. There was a renewed vigor as she took large strides in his direction, probably hoping to corner him. He lept to the side immediately, plastering himself to the wall across from one of the many windows, ready to launch straight out the frosted plexiglass if needed.

That made the stranger pause, sensing the situation was too tense for her to strong arm her way into getting what she wanted. Her gaze softened as she tried to school her features into a practiced friendliness. She placed both hands in front of her in a placating gesture. The omega was rather late to show any reaction, busy maintaining distance from the intruder.

"Hey, calm down sweetheart."

Feathery and approachable was the only way he could describe her voice. He wasn't sure if that was part of the act or authentic.

"You look like you need some help there." She unhelpfully commented. "I can help you."

"No, thank you." He croaked, throat dry and scratchy from disuse.

She laughed half hearted - whether at him or at the predicament was hard to tell. Her teeth were lined neatly, dental work obvious. Oddly enough, they were still pristine white instead of the decayed yellows and mild greens he associated with the average survivor. Her cheekbones took centerpiece of her face, standing out like two polished rice balls.

Personally, he failed to see the humor in this. Since the beginning, his worst fear was some feral burly knothead deciding they needed to own him so they could stuff him with seed. To many, an omegas body was free to be handled however an alpha wished - even beaten. He's heard alphas talk about it, and the news has shown him alphas who've gotten away with it. Some played the heat card, others the pup one, and a few the protective one. Whether it was heat delirium, their instincts to sire just their blood, or their instincts to mark, it was all bullshit.

"Still got a bit of moxxy, huh? Good boy." The omega bristled at the praise, already put off by the alphas insistence to help. "How long have you been in heat?"

He stiffened, looking to the window. The fall wouldn't kill him, but it would do worlds of damage to his legs if he landed badly. That didn't mean he couldn't try to drag himself away if things went south. Even if he landed right he'd get hurt, and limping wouldn't lead to a swift getaway. Ultimately, he'd never get that far.

Stranger danger woman must've known his train of thought because she took a step back, keeping her hands out. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

Replacing the stench of her aggression was the fragrance of pinecones and clean linen. Under regular circumstances it would be a soothing scent, one given out by a caring alpha trying to coddle an omega. All the scent did was churn his stomach - just as rancid as the gasoline. Maybe it would have worked if the alpha wasn't some nobody looking to take advantage of him.

It was his first cycle since everything went down, and his first out of the year thanks to the supply of his suppressors running out. He was nervous and nauseous, rightfully so, and no amount of unfamiliar alpha scents were going to make him feel better. Yet the woman kept releasing them anyway.

"How about something easier to answer? How long ago did you run out of water?"

"Why? Why do you wanna know?"

"Easy, sweetheart. Like I said: I just want to help" she pointed to her pack, dark green and half empty, resting beside the staircase. "I've got a days worth of water. You can have some, you just need to tell me when your heat started."

It was the wrong moment for his mouth to remind him how dry it was. He depleted his jug too fast and, naturally, was worried about the night trip he would eventually have to embark on to get more. Some treacherous part of his brain was glad there was someone now capable of retrieving it for him. 

He still wasn't up to trusting her though. "That isn't enough."

"I can get more. Answer me and I'll give you what I have."

The omega considered her words, mulling them over. Making the trip himself was dangerous, but so was staying here as was apparent by the unwelcome alpha offering him water. Her getting the water gave him an opportunity to run before she got back, but running meant he wouldn't have any water for who knows how long. Either option was negligible, yet he wasn't ready to admit that. 

As he contemplated his decision, the woman lowered her hands. The scent that was eminating from her thankfully dulled. He didn't think for a second that she was going to let him go or be truly kind to him. No, not when she had the perfect scenario playing out right before her: an omega in peak fertility, trapped without another alpha to challenge her or anyone to defend him. From the alpha view of things, only the most obtuse would pass on a chance like this.

Months ago, it would have baffled him that in the midst of everything anybody would have time to claim an omega. When the initial chaos had quieted and the rampage stopped, it made sense that the first desire was to rebuild their lives and re-introduce the structure that they had enjoyed before the outbreak. Unfortunately, that included the family structure and the dynamic structure. Some survivors prioritized repopulating more than government or military.

With this alpha it was hard to get a read on which type she was. She wasn't above trying to appease him by softening up and staying her distance. Yet she also was here for her own gain and likely won't leave until she's had him. It didn't look like she was armed to the nines like the rough and tough alphas he'd seen passing his establishment, but she still felt durable as they looked. The clothes she wore weren't the greatest example of who she might be as a person, but they were made of soft materials - something alphas weren't known for wearing.

All of that information left him with nothing. He remained unsure of the best long term way to proceed that didn't involve him bending over for her. So he took the temporarily easy route, answering her questions instead.

"Around nine hours"

She looked confused as to what he was referring, prompting him to clarify. "I ran out of water nine hours ago."

Instantaneously, she brightened. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?" He could feel his eyes itch with the urge to roll. "Now what about your heat?"

"What about my heat."

"You look thirsty, you know. Nine hours is a long time to go without water when you're sweating like that."

Manipulative. It was the first real thing he knew about this new alpha. He released a short sigh - one he was holding in from the moment she opened her mouth. Things were going to go her way and she'd make sure of it. If only that attitude was diverted to literally anything other than copulating with an unwilling omega then the world would be a better place.

"Yesterday night" it was impossible to hold the forlorness of his tone at bay.

"Good boy. Let's get you some water," she eased herself backwards, focus maintaining on the omega even as she fished out the water bottle from her bag. "Sadly, it's warm."

Alpha lady inched across the floor, walking directly over to him, assuming she had won his trust when that couldn't have been farther from the truth. Around the point where she was close enough he could smell her hair - faded artificial lavender - is when he scooted over to the window, a foot nearer than he was a second ago. Honestly, he didn't want to have to jump. He just wanted the alpha to leave so he could go back to being miserable in heat.

The threat was made very clear to the tall woman. She stopped her approach, distending the bottle for him to take. It looked unmarred, the paper tag still wrapped around it. But he was too wary to actually take it from her. Sensing this, she looked for an alternative.

"It's alright. I'll set it down, okay."

And she did - placed the item in the middle of the concrete, close to neither him nor her. Dust had been scuffed when they first tusled and had continued to fall. There was a sheet of it still covering the ground and his bare feet was dirtied by it. The bottle stood like a lone statue, or like a bridge connecting them from their sides of the room. It looked even more alone than he was.

Despite her efforts to assauge him, he remained pressed to the ruby red bricks behind him - cautious. He doubts she poisoned her own water supply since she probably hadn't even known he was there until a few minutes. She was fast though - speedy in preventing his departure. As she stood, crowding the exit, he saw the stiffness of her body language: simultaneously stock still - ready to block - and loose footed - ready to chase.

Their divide wasn't sufficient. Everything made his hackles raise, even his own breathing. But his tongue was dry enough to chaffe the roof of his gums when it moved. His teeth felt awkward in his own face - sucking moisture from him like tiny magnets. He was leery but his thirst won out. That one leg forward was the most he's gone near her since their showdown.

Plucking the bottle up in his hand hurriedly, he scurried back against his wall, like a coy little mouse stealing cheese. Popping the cap off and getting just one whiff of the slightly chlorinated water made his knees wobble. The water was surprisingly tepid for something that was out in the cold so long. It smelled earthy and tasted earthy as it flooded his mouth. He was surely dramatic, yet those nine hours felt like he was being fried in the desert. The feeling of the water plumping up his shriveled tongue was glorious. Hydration was one of those things he took for granted before the outbreak, but never again.

While he was consumed with swallowing as much as he could, the woman was at liberty to speak. "My name is Sasha." She announced. Her words were dutifully ignored.

He took a small break for air before chugging the rest, getting lost in the sensation. There was just a small bit left but he drank with abandon, eyes closing involuntarily. Like releasing a dam over dried out lake, his maw was cool again. Even so he crushed the bottle up in his hands, trying to squeeze out the last molecule. His mind was at ease for the moment. Or was until he felt one balmy mitt strangling his bicep.

Simply put; he wasn't particularly smart during estrus, no matter his opinion. Omegas had a damsel in distress reputation for a reason. It was incredibly facile for him to become encompassed by his perceptions, leaving a blind spot for an alpha to gain control of him or the situation. Which is exactly what she did.

Shocked, he attempted to rip his arm from the iron grip. Being touched by the alpha made his skin scald. She held fast though, and his weak attempt was thwarted. Rather than her grip loosening like he hoped, it tightened.

"Let go of me!" He yelped, "let me go!"

She only pulled him closer, her breath billowing down his face. "Calm down." She tried shushing him but it didn't work.

"You're hurting me! I'll give you whatever you want, just let go!"

"No. your body needs this" 

He was fully aware how naked he was. The alpha had full access to any part of him she wanted to touch. He was a glazed roast on a gold plate and she a royal excited to dine. Any peice of him was fair game. Tears sprung to his eyes, his heart thundering in his chest a million beats a minute. He quivered, his lip quivered, and a blush rode up his body like a rollercoaster. 

White noise incessantly rang in his ears, blocking out the bigger sounds and honing on the minutia; the slide of her silk shirt on her shoulders, the creasing of her jeans as she moved. He wasn't wearing any clothes that ruffled and creaked - tore them off hours ago when his heat christened. All he had were the jerky breathes he was releasing in order to hold back from crying. 

"You can't do this to me. I didn't do anything to deserve this!"

"I'm not punishing you; I'm helping." She twisted him to the side, grabbing on to his other arm. His back was to her chest and he couldn't see her eyes. He could feel the mounds of her breast squished amidst his shoulder blades that rose and fell shakily. 

The clamor of her boots as she widened her stance was deafening. She used them to kick open his legs while asserting her weight on him, bending him at the waist. Her nose drifted up the curve of his neck, leaving a trail of fire and raised hair. He's seen alphas do things like this in the movies; hold omegas down by their scruff and scent them. Usually it resulted in the omegas getting slick and falling hopelessly in love with alphas that spent the rest of the film acting stoic and aloof.

In real life it was the least romantic experience he's had since his seventh grade school dance. Lucas Greenes sweaty palms and nauseating body spray aroma were far more preferable to this.

He couldn't ask what she was intending to do, too scared that if he said anything she'd shove his head aside and bite into his bonding gland, tying him to her. Instead he stood still; allowing her what she wanted until her mouth was far enough away from his neck that he could move without risking his most sensitive area. It was agonizingly slow how long it took her to finally pass it, nose halting frequently. By the time she was on to new things he could feel the thick tip of her cock straining against her zipper. It uncomfortablely scratched at one of his cheeks.

Unbelievably he felt embarrassed for allowing this alphas treatment of him. Bent like a broodmare and handled like a ragdoll by a petty intruder who seized him in his mere second of weakness. The ensuing bitching was the only thing that would yield more shame, save for a picture of commemoration. Having his legs apart made he feel that he was every bit the slab of fuckmeat alphas always accused omegas of being. It was demoralizing and the alpha was savoring it.

Tickling at the surface of his mind was the voice telling him to fight back - commanding him to fight back. His parents wouldn't have wanted to see him like this; their only son, reseigning himselve to the assaults of a stranger. They always looked at him proudly - he could do no wrong in their eyes. In all his life he has never wanted to curl up in his mothers hearth more than now. This alpha was going to sweep away the last vestiges of his mommas little boy if he didn't do something.

Spirit not yet crushed by the brute, he tapped into his adrenaline, igniting a short spark of strength. His head is heavy, dull thud poking at his brain. The ache makes it feel like kinetic sand slipping through his fingers - unstable while he holds it up but free and knitted together nicely when it collects on the ground. His body was already complicit, if the increased production of slick easing down pass his ankle was anything to go by. However, his mind previously operated under his wishes and none else. 

Even that was deteriorating the longer he stayed in position, waiting for the alpha to peel off her jeans and penetrate. The vitriol remained though. It coursed through his veins like an electric current. He held onto that, let it power him up. One burst of energy was all it took for him to wriggle out of her hold. His legs regained autonomy as he bolted to the window. By this point he's had to have amassed scabs on his feet. The soles were feeling rubbed raw as they thumped on the porous flooring.

His energy came with a rush of slick slipping from him like sap out of a tree spout. Later he would be told he tasted just like sap too. But during the spike of endurance he paid no attention to the patters of slick drops leading behind him or the sticky clashing of his backside. When he was sure he was out of eyesight of the alpha he would tend to the mess.

However that objective never came to fruition. Just as quickly as the power washed over him it washed through him. His steps slowed and his last thought wandered somewhere bitter before the inevitable rough hands that held him a second ago grabbed him yet again. Unlike last time he couldn't even get halfway to his destination. He was pinned on the ground, face down, beside the brick wall section under the window within the next second, gasoline smell coming back full force. A sob wracked his throat as the situation came to a head. 

"Stop running." She ordered, voice passing through clenched teeth, one hand reaching into his hair to grab at his roots. The other hand ran down the side of his ribcage, checking for wounds. She couldn't properly breed him if he was severely injured.

With each league of skin her calloused fingers pawed over he felt more angry and more broken. It was difficult to stifle the pain of being captured by an alpha - one that he'd only just met maybe ten minutes prior. It was second nature to eminate his distress signal: the smell of singed dough - like a pan of bread left in the oven too long. Most people had a protective reaction to omegas in distress. Some were completely capable of ignoring it and carrying on just fine.

She didn't appreciate that perfume, opting to huff it out of her lungs with a concerned noise attached. "Are you hurt?"

Explaining to her precisely how devastated he was by the actions sure to proceed would take the rest of the year. She'd probably tire in the middle of his rant and go to town on him anyway. He chose the convenient option of making himself heard; blubbering.

His body was taut like a bowstring, tensing because of the alpha at his back - poised.

"I can't, I can't! You have to let me go." He pleaded, whinging his words.

"Shhh, omega. You can't what?" Associating that steady tone with the aggression roiling off her in waves was a mind boggling affair.

"I can't breed! Because I'm infertile." His lie rang desperate. "I'm begging you. I'll give you all of my stuff if you get up now and leave."

"You smell so ripe," she hummed, "A good alpha would never abandon such a pretty little thing like you."

Throat constricting, he listened as the alpha told him not to move. His face lit red like a Christmas light, illuminating the tears starting a new. They drowsily glided down his rounded cheeks, picking up dust as they went. Still, he continued. 

"Please don't rape me. I can't," he sucked in a breathe he nearly choked on. "My family's waiting for me. Please let me go,"

"You're an omega; they'll understand. Besides - we can make our own family"

Her hands roved him more thoroughly and with a rhythm, driving over the slopes and dips of his form. They moved unhurriedly, genuine concern for his wellbeing navigating her actions. He was smooth and slippery due to his estrus, the salt of his sweat perhaps the fourth most prominent aroma in the atmosphere. She prodded fingers into his sides and what she could reach of his chest, asking if it hurt while he kept murmuring. Her hands didn't skip a single area - grazing the mating gland with a resilient exercise of self control so as not to irritate it.

Massaging the muscle of his inner thighs, she decided he was unharmed and began the process of examining his genitalia. First thing she did was reach low between his legs and along his crack. She caressed the raised line decorating his taint, mesmerized with the omegas parts. It wasn't a long slit or a short one. It was uninteresting, and technically useless until a week before labor when it would dissect for birthing. 

Satisfied with her findings she swiped up, encountering his swollen hole. It was sopping with slick, practically turning into a puddle of maple scented natural lubricant. Four digits flattened over it and rubbed deeply at a snails pace. The stimulation wrenched an agitated moan from him as his pleads gained fervor. His sphincter pinkened like virginal fruit, appearing equally luscious. The digits divided, two venturing in to the depths barely making progress as the passage latched on to any intrusion. Angered whimpers interspersed through his string of words with every new touch at his entrance. It looked healthy, if not a bit sad from emptiness.

His sac was simpler to visually assess than his prick currently lying between him and the concrete. In the back of her mind she made plans to move him back into his nest, not wanting to scrape him up during mating. Slick from his hole was smeared of his balls as they were rolled in her palms like spongy marbles. They were small, like most male omegas junk tended to be, and weren't full yet. Presumably, he expended his impuissant omega seed masturbating himself throughout the day.

The limp cocklet smushed to the ground was far more under the weather than rest of the body it was attached to. It was a gradually purplish color, similar to a blooming bruise. Undoubtedly chafed and feeble according to the utter deflation of his sac. The more she discovered about the shuttering heap estrus left him, the more she was glad she stuck around to help. 

A motly mushroomed head was only half covered by the omega. Sodium musk was the lone smell wafting off his rod, meaning he intentionally left it dry of his slick. Micro beads of spunk dotted his yawning slit, resting atop the cut instead of spilling down. Sasha used her pointer to stroke lightly under the flared ridge of the head, checking for bumps. His body was flawless - kept exceptionally groomed considering the lack of resources.

Curiosity got the best of the alpha as she moved her finger to the thin whip at his top. She tapped on it, substance molding to the grooves of her prints. Lifting it up pulled at the rest of the droplets nestled away in the cavity. Beneath her the omega breathed rapidly, bemoaned cries at the sensation sending a beeline of arousal to her own fully unsheathed cock. She was generous not to torture him by playing with it, wiping the sparse glob back onto his slit, short nail rapping at it as she did so - soliciting a harrowed grunt.

The doe had expressed pained keens while she perused his privates, humiliated by her intimately seeking touches. He valued his purity, and she had violated him with ease. He knew she was gearing to violate him again, this time aiming to get inside of him and claim him as her property - her bitch. Her exploration lingers on his hide, making him feel small.

Each inch she skimmed blazed, shame adding salt to the wound. Omegas were inspected regularly, sometimes by professionals and sometimes by their alphas, but he never had it happen to him. From what little he remembers from sex ed, doing so before mating wasn't unusual. A few cultures had omegas stand on podiums as they were searched, crowds assembling to watch. Centuries past it was customary for an alphas own birther to frisk the prospective mate.

A peice of him broke thinking of all the other omegas who've experienced this injustice. The ones bawling themselves to sleep, cowering in their duvets or large clothing - assuming all of them were even permitted those things. Already he wanted to dig himself a hole in the ground he'd never leave. He wanted to burn everything she fondled. And the worse was yet to come; she wouldn't have spared the time to check if she didn't intend to rape him.

"I don't want this..."

"You did so well staying put. Beautiful."

"Please don't do this! I'm sorry for running but please just let me go,"

"I accept your apology," That same iron grip wrapped around his bicep again, "Keep being good for me, will you sweetheart."

Rising to her height, and hauling him up with her, she trots over to her bag where she left it. The omega had half the mind to make a mad dash down the rickety flights and bust out the Building, but he was on the other side if her. She could grab him again or trip him if he tried. Alphas weren't the forgiving type from what he's seen. He knows the more evasive he becomes the more aggressive she'll react.

The temptation is there and gone in the same second when the alpha squeezes his arm. While he was contemplating his escape, she was rummaging through her bag for something to prevent it. Her weapon of choice were a few long strips of fabric, a foot and a half each, that honestly looked way too comfortable to do anything to him. He really wasn't into bondage but he supposed it was another in a long list of changes he was going to have to get used to.

The woman rushed him nearer to his vacated hide out, holding up the material for him to view. "You know what I'm going to do with this?" He nods. "If you can look me in the eye and tell me you won't run - and mean it - I won't tie you up."

His reply came readily, before he could take it back "Fuck you!". Miserable red eyes and stained cheeks made it the most unthreatening comment he's ever said, but he said it - and meant it.

To his surprise, her response wasn't immediate. She blinked once, unused to rude omegas but not fazed. However, this was about to be  _her_ omega. Tolerance for his impudent outbursts were preset to an all time low even prior to the bite.

"Eager, sweety? Maybe I should tie your mouth too. Maybe I should knot it fir-"

"No!" The panic written all on his face was too vivid for her to deride any humor from it. An unappealing smell was beginning to varnish the place, tacked on to her next intake like a sticky note reading _disgust, terror!_ She'd need to work on that when the time came for a blowie. In the moment, her attention was centered on binding the omega.

Cool and impassive, Sasha forcibly spun him forward, snatching his wrist into her possession. She bent his arms backward, clasping hands together behind him, tying wrist to wrist and elbow to elbow. Fabric was knitted in between the initial restraints for extra security. Roughly, she tightened each bound, making sure they wouldn't come loose while also keeping them from cutting off circulation. Silk impeded the omegas dexterity, soft but durable.

She really had pondered gifting him a makeshift gag, yet she knew it would do little to muffle his ramblings. There was charm to his fight; rarely did the omegas she came across in the past so readily give up their manners. In fact, she was starting to suspect he never had them to begin with. She acknowledged that showing amusement for her soon-to-bes spoiled nature would only encourage him, which is why she planned on nipping it in the bud - but not before she's had some fun.

Conquering an unruly omega with pure alpha dominance and corrective sex was a common alpha, and _occasionally_ omega, fantasy. It would be kinder for him if they could avoid re-enacting the various tales of omegan subjugation. Although it was a source of wet dreams for her too, when the week was over, she hoped he would mellow out. Once he was out of season they were to continue her journey to her uncle; having to discipline an omega every few miles wasn't worth the scant minutes of excitement. 

Nevertheless, either way he came out of season; he was going to come out of it. The sooner he was stuffed, the better.

 

Sasha steered him to the location of the nest, having to crouch to enter. Everything was doused with his fluids - salt and slick primarily. Specs of white painted the area he was laying in when she unveiled him, and a bundled up t shirt he was using as a headrest had mopped up the sweat from his brow. Slick lined the entryway of his nest -which was gorgeously coiffed into a square. Overlays, inlays, and those other nest layers she was too ecstatic to recall had been tidily tucked into the expert folds of the nest walls. Cozy, wide, and gratuitous; beyond comfortable looking, and standing at a height mid calve - above the knee to the omega

Dropping him to the side, on his back, she made her way through the nest, stomping her feet. Laced up boots made thuds dulled by the piles of material. The hen was shattered, staring in gap mouthed disbelief as she trampled his hardwork. His words just couldn't seem to conform, his mind billowed smokes of rage, and nothing came of it. It was one injustice on top of several others from the woman. Breeding Does in general were very protective of their huddles - sneezing in one's direction would affront them. Many had to be that way if they already gave birth. Pups were secured into nests until they were old enough to withstand a bit of the elements.

For an omega, a nest meant safety and prosperity. The connection for alphas varied from young to mating to territory. Alphas enjoyed nests the way a dog enjoyed a chew toy: they could roughhouse and play and wreck it all up, but when it was ripped to shreds it was as insignificant as the licence on the latest car they chased. And yet they always wanted a new one. Omegas often maintained the same huddle for different purposes - having to rebuild them again and again after their alphas. 

Yet when an omega destroyed something of value to an alpha they had to submit themselves, even if they weren't that alphas mate. Being back in the cushy fortress of his den wasn't enough to make his mind calm. The alpha was plucking around the individual peices, tugging up blankets and moving pillows out of place. She was searching it - violating his nest like she did him. By the looks of it she was fustrated - the omega thought that maybe she was trying to punish him even after accepting his apology.

That was until she let out a cocky huff. Retracting her hand from betwixt the wall and the overlay, she grinned at the hen. A stainless steel blade, probably the largest he could find, silver handle grip the top of which smelled worryingly like his syrup fragrance, gleamed menacingly at him. Truthfully, he had been too occupied in estrus to remember he had it. Whether he could actually use to escape now was out of the question. It was mostly just his protection against zombies; he's never hurt a human before - wouldn't even know where to aim.

The woman confiscated it all the same, seperating the curtains to chuck it in the fire. A clattering ping resonated the hollow space of the rustic establishment. Obviously it wasn't going to melt in there, but even when the fire died down it would be too hot for him to grab. She dusted off her hands comically, congratulating herself on securing the omega in her care.

Settling back in to the huddle, on her knees across from the hen, she proceeded to remove her shirt. Silk slid luxuriously up her middle, bit by bit revealing vague abs and high olive skin. She was sculpted like a pillar - with equal parts efficacy and grace. Curves dipped into the roundness of her hips - not as wide as an omegas but still feminine. 

When the top was lifted over her chest, the omega begun to feel a bit voyeuristic - a bumbling preteen all over again. It was different when she oogled him - he wasn't the bad guy - but eyeing this strangers breast felt awkward. They were plush and pillowly, almost as comfortable looking as his nest - completely filling out her bra and jiggling, like velvet water balloons, with the movement of pulling off her shirt. The lady saw him spying and smiled - misinterpreting his nerves for interest.

"I'd ask if you'd like to touch, but you're all tied up" she was the type of alpha to tease apparently.

Her hand went to her fly, pinching the zipper with her pointer and thumb. The buzzing ripple of it parting had the doe swallowing the saliva preparing his mouth for bile. Fingers undid the two buttons ontop, finagling them out of their loops. He turned away, refusing to watch her slip out of her jeans. He still heard the fabric bunching and the shift of it down her thighs. She never took her shoes off, making her pants stall at above her ankle. 

The shimmy of her satin panties were equally disconcerting, and the survival part of his brain was grasping at straws, worrying what to do next. Rasping breathes were dithering through his lips, lungs burning with the effort to inhale-exhale with the scent of the alpha setting up to rape him reeking the air. Gasoline had dissolved ever so slowly, making way to lusty suede and domineering woodsy aroma. All pinecones and expensive suits without the presence of either.

"Please. Please don't do this. I'm begging you..." The alpha had shuffled over to him, hands landing on his hips and swiveling him onto the floor of his nest. A palm digging into the bend of his back, lowering him down as he resists.

"Shh, you're going to be okay. I've got you." She reasserts.

"Why are you doing this-"

"Simple, sweetheart. You're in heat and I'm a good - and lucky - alpha." His legs are boxed under him, flaccid penis dangling uselessly from between them. "You need this. Sooner or later, you'll crave this too"

Bowing in an innately omega position in front of her, he is entirely vulnerable to her assaults. She's lined up behind him, erect and lukewarm shaft twitching at the cleft of his ass. Through all his objections, what she said remains true. His body continues to produce slick in heavier amounts now that it's sensed an alpha was near. Maple and sugar creating the heedy aphrodisiac that enthralled the alpha enough for this whole conundrum to happen. 

From the womans perspective, she had the perfect view of his supple bottom. Hole leaking and starved, impatient for her to dive in and soothe his core. Successfully breeding him up with pups was the only way to help him in his time of need. Of course, just fucking him would do enough, but Sasha desired a litter. Rounding out his belly would hopefully temper him - if not, then it at least made him reliant on her.

She takes ahold of her dick - member pink and fat - gives it a quick rub, then guides the tip against his entrance. Little wrinkles of skin forming his sphincter boil hot like the center of the earth - her tip bumps along his ribbed circle. His lubricants drip streams on her dick that mingle with the skinny layer of filmy mire her own duct manufactured. Scent combines with scent; pinecone and maple re-creating the great outdoors in some random husk in Montana.

The pink bud doesn't budge at first, needing a bit more applied pressure. Hen already twittering, she molds her grip stronger and nudges the rim wider. Progress is only fractional - his bud still so tiny it was similar to squeezing a finger into a ring two sizes too small. She leaned forward, adding natural weight to the push. His rim gives in increments, fleshy red slowly becoming visible.

Insistent on entering, she steels her hips and shoves. The hole yields, fluttering, and she slides home, much more forceful than she meant to, with a wet splutter. Taken to the hilt - still being pulled into the inviting depths too. Cock enveloped by a sumptuous and sopping sleeve constricting her like a dangerous boa, she releases a low moan of ecstasy. 

Immediately, he tightens around her hard enough to snap her - metaphorical - twig in half. She considers removing herself only briefly, but she's a little scared doing so would sprain her cock. To avoid that risk she waited it out, listening as the stammering doe tried to speak. They hadn't even gotten into much action yet - scandalous bud deciding it wanted her to stay in place - and he was already flustered.

The omega was wriggling and squirming throughout the insertion, bellowing bedraggled wails and bitten back groans of anguish. He unintentionally gave her little prickles of pleasure anytime he exercised his lower half. At some point when she was trying to fit her cock in him, his aroma had changed. There were traces of shame and fear, which she wanted to feel bad for but couldn't. Yet there was also something else underlying, something she had many memories of when she was younger: callery pear blossoms.

Callery trees swarmed the meadow near her uncles house. Eventually, they begun to invade the outskirts of his huge yard. They shed like crazy and covered his truck bed the one time they decided to have picnic out there. It wouldn't have mattered really if it weren't for their distinct fragrance of fresh spunk. The smell had gotten everywhere. And now it was here, far from her uncles backyard and- 

Like a lightbulb flicking on, she realized just what had happened; He came.

During the process of breaching him, his cocklet wrung out all that was left of sac. Not out of actual delight, but it was his bodies effort to give him a serotonin spike. An omegas body usually does that to reward the omega the first time it receives a knot. If the omega is prude, sometimes it can be a natural reaction to receiving anything bigger than two fingers. She understood now - her little doe has never used any omega specific dildo, or heat handler, or more than a couple of fingers to see him through heat before.

Blood and thrill surged to her cock again, reminding her it was still buried in him. Conquering a mouthy omega was one thing, but being the first thing to conquer, and open, their breeding canals was another. It was rare too. Heat toys were very popular in the modern world. Sasha was under the impression an independent omega like this surely had something under their hat to help them out. 

Snaking a hand around to his lap, she sought out his cocklet. It gave fleeting jumps and nods cradled in her palm. The skin was raised a bit, rug burned. She knew it didn't make sense to thank him - he couldn't possibly have been saving himself for her - but she did anyway. His only response was a feeble  _ungh_. 

Hole loosening its chokehold on her, she began to rock back and forth idly. Her cock dug into his hole - carving a place inside specifically for her. She watched as her shaft was swallowed up greedily and worshipped by his body. She couldn't wait till she was worshipped by his mind too. Slipping into him and falling out in a steady staccato was bliss. A grin split her lips - she was about to be mated to such a divine little doe.

Still hugged by his walls, she could feel the fluttering of contractions, heat working in tandem with the alpha to get her off. Estrus and alphas had the same goal; getting omegas bred. The pucker of his sphincter dragged along her shaft, creating ripples across the sensitive appendage. Her knot was barely more than an itty bitty hill, not stimulated into forming quite yet, but every time it dipped into the wet heat she bit back a moan. 

Getting a grip on the omega, she thrust in deep. The omega had regained his senses from the overload and had tried clambering away - well, it was more like wiggling away really. His legs were splayed in a position that didn't give him much leverage to get away. He floundered about the floor of his nest, defying the mating rather fruitlessly. He continued his pleas, a lot more breathless than they were before.

The plodding of her own femsack - a leathery extension different than males - against his naked ass was music to her ears. Thighs collided with his in a sticky Orchestra, snivels and tumults of distress completing the symphony that echoed in the atmosphere. Her tempo was languid, enjoying each stroke inside of him. Slick made the pace into a relaxing, almost sleepy, tune. With the exception of his protests increasing in volume, the sounds of their coupling could have made a peaceful recording. 

"I can't...hungh... Please take it out! S-Stop!" He complained. 

She continued though, giving another deep thrust. "I told you you'd be okay, didn't I?" 

"I'm not-gah-okay! It hurts!"

"Really? Mmm, your ass looks just fine-nuh from here."

"I don't want your stupid cock! Umph, I-ungh- I fuckin-nuhgh hate you!..." His words spat with venom. They earned him a rough jab at his prostate, eliciting an uncontrollable moan - stars skittering across his vision. 

"Sure sounds like you love me."

"N-nobody loves you. You're-nngh- just ah limp d-dick alph-pha bitch!" The shout rang in the air - reverberating through brick and mortar.

Though Sasha lauded her ability to keep a cool head, there were some buttons better left unpushed. The basis of her presentation related sex was one of those such buttons. Female alphas had as many societal perks as males, but sharing a designation didn't make the genders any less different. To the ignorant, modern femininity was seen as less commanding and therefore less alpha-like. Each presented sex faced their own social criticisms - really the only ones who didn't were straight betas. But having her own captured omega denigrate her alphahood tipped her over the edge.

Seeking to teach him just how commanding she could be, she plunged into him - filling every corner in him until her tip brushed his cervix. He let out a mangled cry, a call for mercy. She leaned into, going as far as she could, driving him an inch up the nest in the process. Subtracting her cock from his hole, she could see the sad pucker begging to be filled again. She obliged, this time dialing up the speed to be rougher on the omega. Sweet and slow wasn't going to do the trick, but fast and rough would.

Her cock disappeared and reappeared in glistening flashes, each dip taking her in to the fullest. His ass was still a vice sucking her in with eager muscles, though not as tight as when she first entered - so she employed the use of her own pelvic strength to jaggedly drive into and out of him with speed and ease. His slick was sluggish, yet remained accommodating - a juxtaposition to the omega himself. Untied legs flailed where they circled her hips, doe trying to get his bearings while being fucked into the ground. Piglet toes scrambled for purchase before his soles planted themselves far on either side of her. He looked a bit like a frog, legs, and bottom forming a sort of M.

Sex began to riddle each breath, the combination of their mating pheromones wafting throughout the lower level just as strongly. The odor put a smile on the alphas face, and a melancholy grimace on the omegas. Although Sasha enjoyed the experience the most - physically and mentally - his body still reacted to the alphas prowess. The does yipping wasn't any louder though - it was quieting, actually. She had counted on the pace making him scream. A steadier and rhythmic drag against his prostate should've made him limp.

Instead, the tendons in his neck were taut as he grit his teeth against the assault, his previous mewls ceasing. He was stiff as a board and not boneless as she intended. Sasha nosed under his neck, sniffing out any possible complications. Finding nothing through her sense of smell, she licked him. A long wet stripe across the knob of his spine, little bristles like a fleshy carpet - scratchy yet gentle. Sweat was the first taste and there wasn't anything off about it. There was nothing off about the slight cardboard taste of his skin, or the raw pancake pheromones - she could detect a soapy flavor to his body; probably from whenever he washed.

All the while she investigated him, her hips never faltered. Repetitive smacks of her pelvis connecting with his backside resonating. He was fitting around her rod like a glove, complementing it on each stroke. However, the now-familiar tune wasn't putting her mind at rest. It was waking up an instinctual desire to add his squeals to the mix - either from pain or pleasure.

She wasn't going to him let him lay like a rock through the whole mating. Under her heel he was to be submissive. Dopey and tame, but also praising of his alpha. Silence during mating was only one of two things: a sign of ailment or an intentional disrespect. Since she couldn't detect anything out of the ordinary, she suspected he was disrespecting her - implying her girth or stride was not suitable enough for an audible reaction. 

In a rare moment of pride fuelled anger, she decided to disrupt his little silence strike with a bold grind inward, tip prodding his cervix. A muffled  _Oomph_ entered the air, which was all the encouragement she needed to keep going - hips rearing back then surging in to his bud, cock becoming a jackhammer and mind solely focused on reaching gratification to the sound of a reluctant omega accepting defeat. His hole welcomed the treatment with a minute gush of slick.

Needing a more advantageous hold over him, her arm slithered up his body around his neck, forearm baring his throat - cradling him. She could feel the bob of his adams apple where it hid in the crook of her elbow. The velocity behind her frenzied thrusts propelled him upward on each smack of their pelvics. The light plodding of her sack on him turned into a ballad of slapping, actually managing to pinken bellow his butt where it consistently landed. 

Ramming inch after inch in his hole non-stop and up to the hilt wasn't a walk in the park despite his wetness. His walls struggled to constrict, being rammed open of every stab of her cock past his rim. Sasha was putting in all the cardio, heart pumping with the determination necessary to keep her moving. It felt like she was running a race: physically exerting herself until the last sweat drop bled from her pored and she crossed the finish line. It didn't matter to her right now whether he crossed it too.

Downy hairs on a lolling head pet the side of her cheek, ragged breaths heating the tops of his ears. With his shoulders lifted off the ground, his upper body was suspended, held up by the alpha. His stance dropped him back down on her shaft every time he bounced, full weight shoving it in hurriedly. She let out small moans interspersed with growls, a buzz under her skin filling her with delight. Cloying scent of an omega being properly bred making her limbs numb.

Cock pounding into him in one massive blur, amicable girth definitely feeling bigger with the way it quickly opened up his entrance. His hole was being beaten into submission, like how a whisk beat eggs into froth. The doe was biting his lip hard enough to form a small cut, trying his damndest not to give the alpha this satisfaction. But once she lifted up his knee, selecting a better angle to scrub at his prostate and irritate his cervix, he crumbled - blaring yelps and sobs combined, joining the cacophony of wet slapping skin and obscene spelching of sex. 

The melody rose, bold pace widening him up enough that the head of her member could screw against his womb. Mating consumed the alpha - she was mad with it. Violently taking what she deemed hers and using her cock to batter his cervix, seeking to enter his most precious of places. Despite the delight of coupling the omega, her ire was scaling around conscious, strokes filled with just as much anger as lust.

That made for a particularly energized and electrifying mating - one that would make his backache with the way his spine bowed. The omega lost all sense of voice, being reduced to whimpers and cries like a good little doe. His hole just couldn't withstand the assault, eventually giving all the way - muscles relaxing, no longer attempting to strangle her shaft and simply allowing her to fuck into a sloppy, shiny hole unbidden. He dreaded the sensations that came with his ass working opposite his will, like the uninvited feel-good tingles.

No hindrance whatsoever, her cock finally speared his cervix, breaching him with an easy thrust. His deeper opening was snug on the tip of her - absolutely lovely.

A hoarse " _oh fuck_ " followed by a high pitched and long-drawn cry notified the alpha that the omega came again - dry by the looks of it. His cocklet swayed side to side, losing all will to erect ages ago and now just hanging there like a noose. Still, the alpha wasn't done with him yet. With the ability to screw into his cervix recently attained, members head kissed by it, her next challenge was sticking a swollen knot past that gorgeous pucker.

It plumped slowly, like bakers bread rising in an oven - which is exactly what the inside of this omega felt like during estrus. The knot itself was more akin to the feel of solid wood. It was already baseball-sized and hard as the bricks making up their building. There wasn't a lot of accommodation his body could provide, other than slickening. Knots were sometimes too intense, stimulating the omega beyond reason and pushing it into painful territory. Sasha didn't think that would occur though - it felt pretty manageable in this state of engagement. 

Vigorous sex ongoing, the alpha beat into him with a passion. The doe was all jolts and hitches bumping back into her unintended. His backside was beginning to get a little puffy, the brutality at which she exercised it pulverizing the soft channel both inside and out. He was seconds away from being caught on her knot and trapped - vulnerable for her to force a bond.

The hen still tried to speak, little _no_ 's and _don't_ s posing objections to the ball he could detect forming when she drilled in past his bud. He thrashed his legs in a rush of hysteria, frantically looking for a way to crawl off her member. It was futile, he was going to be stuck on it whether he liked it or not. Her movements never ceased; pistoning with a reckless abandon, persuing her own climax.

Rhythm offbeat and abdomen rippling, she came to the edge - bodies acting in harmony as the alpha shoved in one last time and the omegas walls clenched the tighest they have during the whole escapade. Long thick cock set like marble skewered through both his openings, his cervix failing to close around the tip. The rim of his wet ass stretched obscenely trying to take the huge knot into his abused hole. The skin expanded, slowly force-fed her knot until it was like quicksand - ruddy and slippery channel sucking it in with a lewd pop.

Automatically, his passage took up the task of straining as much cum out of her as possible. She ejaculated molten hot seed, pumping large doses directly into his receptacle womb. With the alpha plugged so tightly into his body, he already felt full to bursting - like eating too much on Thanksgiving.

A sharp bark of agony and pleasure accompanied her belted roar, both delayed, but she chose to ignore the omegas noise in favor of exploring her own peak. A cascading miasma of bright pulses and chills ran along her skin, up and down her spine like children on a hill. Twitches of her cock being squeezed by the renewed vice of his channel made her knees weak, though not weak enough to topple them. A fire sprinted through her senses, being chased by the comedown crashing her back into reality. Knot and all, the mating wasn't finished yet. Her sight zeroed in on the slight mound, vaguely red and calling her attention as if it was a signal.

It felt so natural, like going on autopilot, when she craned his neck to the side and clamped into the juicy junction were his neck met shoulder. Puncturing the gland was the point of no return - and the alpha couldn't be more proud. Reedy fluid, about an ounce worth, washed her tongue - maple and pancakes, and a tinge of succulent special to his mating gland secretion. She could live her whole life happily tasting nothing but this. Pure unadulterated bliss, like a meal that never ended.

The thrumming of her eardrums had briefly drowned out the clipped howl her omega had let loose.  _Her omega_. Her omega who was currently undulating his hips, short convulses he couldn't control making his body shake.

Sashas saliva chock-full of her pheromones was coursing through his veins, injecting them with their bond and tying him to her. Surrounding him with her. His gland fluid was doing much the same process - both their heads spinning and bodies becoming heavy like bags of potatoes. Lying in his nest, covered in their mingled scents and various substances, seemed a great idea - one she swiftly obliged. 

Resting her weight on top of him, effectively caging him under her, she settled in for the day. There were many things on her mind which would keep her up for a while. A tug at her heartstrings, realizing that her deepest desire was accomplished right there in that morose establishment. Her desire had come to life and now fitfully slept under her - passed out.

Then a trouble that had been plagueing her since the omega chugged the last of her water had niggled at her; how was she supposed to leave behind her omega in heat? Where would she get water?. She was in the middle of searching for supplies when she wandered in and discovered the beautiful creature she now called mate.

Though the problems still bothered her when she closed her eyes, she was too content to stress over it - even if it was important. Instead, Sasha decided she would deal with it all later; after she's had a nice nap in the big nest her darling omega made - pretending it was always meant for her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will probably never be geographically accurate, but at least I tried. 
> 
> Words like 'doe, hen, etc.' are pet names for omegas. 
> 
> The Chapter is not as handsome as I'd like but when I get internet back I'm going to clean it up, promise.
> 
> Comments always welcome.


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